


woke up inside your compass

by quackingfish



Series: old wounds | new teeth [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence- Season 2, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Full Shift Werewolves, Lydia Has A Gun, M/M, NaNoWriMo 2020, Pack Bonding, everyone says fuck a lot, with a little bonus timeline fuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 76,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28477662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quackingfish/pseuds/quackingfish
Summary: It's been a year, and nothing's changed. They're barely a pack, nobody gets along, and everything sucks. There's a monster stalking Beacon Hills, of course, so there's the usual blood and mayhem and terror, but through it all, there's these little moments, glimpses of companionship and laughter and teamwork, enough to torture Stiles with just how much hewantsit all.OR: Oops, All Found Family!
Relationships: Background Lydia Martin/Erica Reyes, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Even more background Allison Argent/Scott McCall
Series: old wounds | new teeth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2106210
Comments: 5
Kudos: 91





	woke up inside your compass

**Author's Note:**

> title from Crossing the Rubicon by Enter Shikari  
> written for NaNoWriMo 2020, 
> 
> I've tweaked things so that S1&2 happened during Senior Year, with everyone but Derek's ages altered to reflect that, and all the Alpha Pack teasers from the end of S2 didn't happen. 
> 
> cw: graphic violence and injuries (approx canon-typical, idk), lots of yelling about insecurities & jabbing at people's weak spots, mentions of Kate Argent, the Hale House Fire & That Whole Thing, That Whole Thing with Derek, Peter, and Laura and how it makes me sad inside, panic attacks & anxiety, unhealthy work habits & sleep deprivation, flashbacks of a sort, murder/blood/fire/mayhem, and smoochin'

Derek had just wanted to spend a nice, quiet evening in the woods. He loved the woods, his territory, the land he called home, the quiet peace and the way he could almost feel each and every tree loving him back just as much as he loved them. But it was just trees, only ever trees.

Summer was rolling in, long and warm, even if Derek tried not to take note of the time dragging on past him. It had been months since he’d seen any of the pack, insofar as they were a pack. And even that had just been glimpsing Boyd lugging trash at his shitty retail job, and Derek hadn’t said anything to him, because what was there to say?

There was just this, trees and brooks and birds, a long stretch of woodland practically built to have wolves running through them, and just him, and the unignorable insurmountable distance looming over the rotten, languishing pack bond.

But at least there were the trees, the little shoots strengthening with the lengthening days, and it hurt more, out here, but not in a bad way, particularly.

But of course, he didn’t get his quiet evening. As was typical for him, Derek didn’t get nice things.

No, what Derek got instead was the distant rumble of ATVs, and the just barely discernible crackle of radio static that meant it wasn’t just semi-nocturnal off-road enthusiasts that were tearing through the forest. It was hunters.

Argent had all but retired from the hunting life, after the death of his wife and after his daughter went off to college, but, of course, that didn’t mean peace. Mike Callaghan didn’t have the fraught, bloody history that the Argent family had had, but he had quickly shaped up to be a real fucking pain in the ass.

Derek had done his best, he supposed, but it wasn’t exactly like he was built for cordial hunter relations, especially not by himself. And when Callaghan had showed up in midwinter, Derek had been, to put it mildly, a complete disaster. He hadn’t seen any of the wolves, or the humans, since the college semester had started, and Peter was _somewhere_ , doing _something_ , and honestly, Derek didn’t blame anyone for not wanting anything to do with him, especially back then.

The quiet of the woods and the therapist Laura had recommended not long before, those had helped, but nothing could be done about the clawing _yearning_ , somehow both less fervent and more painful than the ferocious drive to _bite_ had been just after he’d become alpha.

And, like usual, Derek proved himself to be a fool in more ways than one; the noise of the hunters was drawing closer, and he knew well enough that they had to have spotted him. It was unlikely that he could outrun them, but still, his skin itched to run, to shift, to hide.

Conceding to his wolf, Derek switched directions and picked up the pace, barely holding back both the shift and the need to break out into a full-tilt run. He was a predator, not prey, no matter how much he felt otherwise lately.

He just couldn’t let himself get cornered by them, that was all he needed to do. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and, for all his faults, Callaghan at least seemed to give a damn about that. Sure, he was an asshole, and he hated werewolves with the typical hunter passion, but he seemed content to wait and watch for one of his pack to fuck up, to kill someone. Seemed to think it inevitable, even.

The roar of engines drew closer, and Derek put on a burst of speed, pushing through undergrowth to reach the top of a rise. It didn’t mean much, but having the high ground was something, at least.

“Hale!” A voice called through the din, rough and low and unmistakably Callaghan.

Derek slowed to a stop, swinging himself up to perch on a half-fallen tree. “Callaghan.”

“Just out for a jog?” Callaghan smirked at him from his position on the back of one of the ATVs, and Derek shrugged. “Haven’t you got a pack to tend to? Kiddies coming home for the summer?”

Derek scowled, letting his eyes run red, glowing bright in what should’ve been a nice, comforting darkness, but, of course, the woods were being lit up like a football field by the hunters’ headlights.

“Yeah, Wolfie? You keep ‘em under control now, you hear? We wouldn’t want me to have some fun this summer, now would we?” Callaghan was still grinning, brushing blond hair out of his face.

God, Derek hated him. “What do you want.”

“It’s nice out. Figured we’d go check up on things.” One of Callaghan’s lieutenants, a sturdy, mean looking man, chimed in. His snarl was, almost ironically, wolfish.

Derek just stared him down, pushing off the branch he’d been propped up on. “Fine. Leave.”

 _God_ , he’d just wanted one quiet evening to get away from the twisting decay of his insides. Just one day, one actually _good_ day. But no, if Derek had learned anything, it was that he could never get what he wanted.

Stiles dragged his hands down his face, digging his fingers into his eyes before reaching blindly for his cup of coffee. He needed to _focus_. The library would fucking kill him if he tried to take these books all the way back to Beacon Hills with him, and there was no way he was going to get these ancient _bricks_ past his dad. And that was a conversation he absolutely _did not want to have_ : about why he hadn’t come back to visit over any of his breaks, about his seemingly sudden interest in ‘folklore’ that he knew he hadn’t managed to hide well enough, about why he and Scott hadn’t ended up going to the same college after all.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved UCI, its criminology department, its Tolkein-themed residence halls, and, most of all, its library. But he had to admit that, when he’d been thinking about college, he hadn’t imagined himself spending hours and hours sprawled all over a couch in a underused corner of his building because his roommate, Justin, had quickly put his foot down about Stiles staying up working all through the night, every night.

And it wasn’t even like he could blame the dude for that, but Stiles had so fucking _much_ to do, so much to learn and study and track _and_ a whole heap of courses on top of that. And like, yeah, he chose this, he didn’t technically have to spend hours a day sifting through ancient werewolf lore and slogging through excruciating Facebook posts from party kids to keep an eye on everyone, but also he abso-fucking-loutely had to.

If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have known about the kelpie that was drifting too close to Allison at Stanford, or the werewolf studying Sociology at Berkeley who might, theoretically, bump into Erica some day, and then he wouldn’t have known to drive out there and make sure they left both of them the fuck alone, and then. And then everything would be awful forever.

Like it was going to be if he didn’t get his ass into gear, finish the notes he needed on these books, and get packing. Fuck, _maybe_ he could convince his dad that he hadn’t packed because he was with some friends? But then he’d want to know about them, and nope, Stiles was fucked.

He squinted down at the aged fucking tome he was supposed to be reading, trying to make his eyes focus. God, his brain was pudding. He just had to get this done, and then he could go down and grab some breakfast, return a whole heap of books, and then shove all his shit into various bags. Hell, if he was really lucky, he might even be able to nap in the car on the way back to Beacon Hills, which _should_ be long enough to get his eyes to stop aching quite so much.

Stiles’d thought he was a pro at navigating sleep deprivation back in high school. Stiles was a fucking idiot. _Now_ he was a pro.

After pulling an energy drink from the bottom of his bag and working his way through it absentmindedly, he managed to push through his mountain of musty books. Why did all supernatural information have to be in ancient fucking bricklike reference books? Would it ruin it to like, scan them digitally? Build a wiki? Maybe write a how-to guide for guiding your idiot best friend through werewolf-hood? Ugh.

It was early in the morning, too early for reasonable people to be wanting breakfast, and yet, thanks to the wonders of College Athletes, there was a spread of toast, and bacon, and the empress of Stiles’ existence, coffee. He would have preferred to multi-task putting food into his face-hole and getting some work done, but the materials he was working from were seriously old and therefore super valuable, and he’d finished his last actual assignment weeks ago, so that option was out. Stiles was pretty sure his professors hated him for always handing in his work early but covered in assorted food and coffee stains. Which, you know, fair.

Justin was just beginning to surface from his bed when Stiles got back to their room, so he kept the light off, using the crack of light coming through the curtains to bundle all his clothes into a duffle bag. Justin was probably actually a cool guy, but Stiles hadn’t stopped moving all year, let alone had time or energy for making friends. Or for talking to his existing ones.

While he wasn’t looking forward to being back in Beacon Hills, exactly, at least it would mean he was almost guaranteed to have a chance to catch up with Scott. Plus, all the pack would actually be back in one place again, somewhat, which would make his ‘worrying to death about them all’ routine somewhat easier.

It really didn’t take Stiles long to pack. He hadn’t brought much stuff, and had needed even less- what the fuck was he going to do with his Star Wars DVDs? Let alone the extended versions of the Lord of the Rings movies. Like hell he was going to sit down and sink all that time into watching something, even if it was the best possible something, when there was stuff to be done.

He shouldered his various bags, staggering somewhat under the weight, but not as much as he’d expected. Huh, maybe all the running up and down flights of stairs to keep himself awake was paying off. Stiles shrugged, checked that his laptop bag wasn’t going to smash against something or worse, tumble to the floor, and offered a quick “bye,” in Justin’s direction. Justin grunted. Good talk.

Stiles trudged down to the bottom floor common room and texted his dad. After a minute, the response came saying that he’d be about two hours, so Stiles decided to go sit out on the grass with his laptop like some fucking campus brochure. Maybe that would convince his dad to not worry about him?

When Dad finally showed up, he looked somewhat stressed, but clearly delighted to see Stiles. God, he was the worst son ever, he should’ve visited. Stiles sprung up into hugging him, and kept up conversation on autopilot until they were on the highway. Dad had apparently redone the back patio, and the new recruits down at the station were finally somewhat competent. Good stuff.

They lapsed into silence after a while, and Stiles squinted at his father. The worry lines on his face weren’t too deeply ingrained, so whatever it was hadn’t been going on for too long. That was good, at least.

“So, murder? Robbery? What kinda crimes’re keeping you up at night, Daddy-o?” Stiles grinned at him, laughing when his dad shot him a glance.

It only took a second before Dad relented with a soft huff. God, it was good to see him again. “We’re not sure if it’s murder or just an accident.”

“Which means you think it’s murder but can’t prove it?”

Dad sighed. “Fine, fine. You don’t tell anyone about this, you hear me?” Stiles nodded, widening his eyes. How that look worked on him, he had no clue, but it did, which was the important thing here. “Three bodies, all a mix of a heart attack and asphyxiation. There’s just- some inconsistencies between what we’re seeing in the autopsies and what the people who saw the victims last are saying.”

“So weird, but not officially murder, cool. But also definitely murder.” Stiles’ fingers itched for his laptop. It probably wasn’t anything supernatural, but it was Beacon fucking Hills, and last time there’d been multiple suspicious bodies it had ended with guns to the heads of the people he cared most about. He’d have to find a way to get his hands on his dad’s case files.

Derek had initially been surprised out of his mind when he’d gotten Scott’s text. But he supposed it made sense; the text had said he was inviting everyone around, which had to include Allison, so clearly they still weren’t at a point where Scott felt like he could talk to her without the excuse of some kind of ‘reunion’.

But, well, even though he knew it wasn’t a good idea, he wanted to see all of them. It was for the best that Derek hadn’t seen them since that disaster of a post-prom party, but he ached for it. The pack bonds were barely there, rotten and atrophied, and had barely existed to begin with before this year of distance and separation. His wolf _ached_ for them, howled for them more nights than it didn’t, and it really was a miracle that none of the wolves had gone fully omega. Even more so that the barely-there links to each of them had been enough to keep _Derek_ from losing himself to the hunger and the agony of a packless alpha.

So there he was, spending his Sunday evening idling in the Camaro a couple of blocks away from the McCall house, at a distance that was hopefully enough to keep the wolves from knowing that he was there, frozen in indecision. If they focused and were actually well trained, they’d likely be able to hear his car, not to mention sense their alpha’s presence, but they weren’t well trained. It had been all he could do to get them stable enough that they wouldn’t rip out any throats at college, and he knew that he’d been a straight up garbage teacher.

God, he didn’t want to go in, didn’t want to face them. Scott, spitfire and stubbornness, Erica with her fierce, dogged determination, Isaac and everything Derek had never managed to give to him, and Boyd, who’d been in Beacon Hills all year, working a shitty retail job, who’d never contacted Derek once. And then there were the humans, Lydia, who he knew next to nothing about and yet was intimidated to hell by (and who might not even be fully human), Stiles, god, fucking _Stiles_. And he was doing better, he promised, but he wasn’t ready to face Allison Argent and all the baggage and history lying ruined between their two families.

But god, he _wanted_. Maybe seeing them safe and happy would put him at ease, might soothe the gnawing and dread and ragged _fear_ that stalked his distant awareness of each of them.

At least he didn’t have to worry about _Jackson_ , who’d gone off to England and sent word that he’d found a reputable, well-established pack within months. Derek snorted. _Reputable_. God, his sorry excuse for a pack was in shambles, and it really was a waiting game, torturing himself with watching the thing fall even further apart.

And yet, he was going to go in. Disaster of an alpha that he was, he needed to _see_ his pack, hear their heartbeats, their voices, possibly, hopefully, even their laughter.

Stiles was getting himself a drink, pretending that he didn’t know exactly where everything was in the McCall kitchen to buy himself more time, when the doorbell rang. He frowned for a second, doing a quick headcount, before he realised it must be Derek at the door. Huh, for some reason he almost hadn’t expected their broody alpha to show.

The door opened and squeaked shut- hopefully Melissa would get on Scott to fix that hinge, now that it was summer and he wouldn’t have any excuses. Stiles sighed, rubbed at his eyes, and wandered back into the living room, bracing himself to throw some nonsense into the room and hope it diffused the tension. Making a fool out of himself had done that plenty times before, whether he had meant to or not, so it _might_ just work.

And god, were things getting dire in there. There was an ocean of space between Allison and everyone else, even Lydia, and the look on Scott’s face as he ducked in from the hall said clear as anything that he wanted to fill it, but wasn’t sure of his welcome.

And then Stiles was speaking, not a single thought running through his idiot brain. “So, anyone tried to kill someone lately?”

Everyone froze and turned to stare at Stiles, and there was Derek, looking somewhat less ragged than when Stiles had last seen him, baffled glare fixed firmly on Stiles.

He winced. “Yeah, okay, not my best. I, uh-” Stiles floundered for a moment, and then turned to Scott for backup out of a years-long habit.

“I nearly got my eyes pecked out by an injured bird last week,” Scott said, clearly with just as little thought as Stiles, and man, this shit was why Scott was his best friend, even though they’d barely spoken all year.

Stiles sank to the floor, leaning against the couch that Allison was on. Might as well try to bridge the gap. While he struggled to keep his drink from splashing everywhere, Isaac spoke up. “What did you _do?_ ” He sounded ridiculously incredulous, almost like he was offended on the bird’s behalf. Fuckin’ Isaac.

Scott launched into a story about the tragically injured baby bird, and god, wasn’t he just the sweetest cinnamon roll. After a moment, he tilted his head at Erica. “Erica, you’re at Berkeley, right? I considered it, their tour was pretty sweet, does the real thing hold up?”

Erica raised an eyebrow at him and rested her chin on her hand. Man, Stiles was pretty sure she’d gotten even more intimidating. “Yeah, sure.” She smirked, and yep, definitely more intimidating. “I get near constant emails about the next Fun and Exciting activity or club or whatever, blowing up my damn phone.”

Stiles was about to respond when Allison offered up a hesitant “they have a pretty good archery team.”

Erica tilted her head, eyebrows rising even higher. God, had Derek taught them how to do that? Stiles glanced around and jolted when he spotted Derek leaning against the wall, pretty much right behind him. His startled spluttering cut off Erica’s sarcastic “uh huh,” which might’ve been for the best.

“Jesus, dude, you still lurk like it’s your job, huh?” Stiles flailed.

Derek scowled, and yep, there were the eyebrows, almost a carbon copy of Erica’s. Though it was definitely the other way around, copying-wise.

“No, you’re just unobservant.” And there it was, the same old deadpan. Man, things really hadn’t changed, had they? Just gotten more distant and awkward. Fuck, Scott had the worst ideas.

And, apparently, so did Stiles, because he didn’t know how to shut the fuck up. Surely awkward silence was a viable option? Surely? “Ha, yeah, I don’t want to think about how many people I pissed off by not noticing them while I was studying.”

The immediate awkward silence proved that, as usual, Stiles was wrong, and things could be worse! God, okay, there had to be some way to bridge this gap. Stiles floundered for a moment, eyes flicking between Allison, Derek, Erica, and Boyd. Man, Derek or someone should really train his puppies to keep an eye on someone in a more subtle way than the damn outright staring that was going on. Like, it made sense, _considering_ , but shit, a little subtlety would go a long way.

Stiles was considering going for the ‘what’s your major’ small talk that he’d been subjected to all year when Scott apparently finished the baby bird story and turned to Lydia, who was scrolling through her phone and looking typically disinterested.

“Oh, hey, Lydia- how’re things up at MIT?”

Stiles winced. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Allison twitch too, which meant that she had kept up with Lydia at least enough to know that MIT hadn’t happened. But there was no stopping what was about to happen.

“I’m not _at_ MIT, McCall.” Lydia’s voice was sharp like piano wire, and Scott looked confused, tilting his head like the damn puppy he was.

“I, huh?”

Erica snorted, leaning back against the couch next to Boyd. “You didn’t expect Perfect Princess Martin to advertise that she lost out on MIT, did you, Scott?”

“I’d say I expected pigs would fly first, but with werewolves being real, who knows.” Isaac added, all sharp and dry, and Stiles couldn’t help but roll his eyes at him.

“I didn’t lose out, but fuck you. UCLA has a perfectly adequate mathematics department, and it’s where you get your Masters and PhD that matters, really.” Lydia looked about ready to pull out a knife and stab someone. Or maybe throw it, so she wouldn’t get blood on her clothes. Which just reminded Stiles that there had, in fact, been stabbing within this little group, and it hadn’t come from Lydia, and _god_ , everything was a mess.

Erica opened her mouth to retort, and oh fuck, there was definitely more than a hint of fang, and Stiles did what Stiles always ended up doing in situations like this. He flailed wildly and practically vomited out a whole bunch of words.

“ _O-kay,_ uh, maybe we shouldn’t- Lydia! How are you enjoying the classes? Crush any souls in intro math? Oh fuck, can someone hand me the paper towels, they’re behind- uh, Boyd, I think? Oh fuck-” He fumbled, managing to half-catch the roll of paper towels that Boyd had tossed him, and started to mop up the coke from the floor.

Everyone was staring at him, he knew, but it could be worse. It could be so much worse.

Lydia sniffed. “Not even just the people taking it as a gen ed requirement. It’s an embarrassment.”

The tension was almost unbearable. Derek had put his back to the wall, on the same side of the room as Allison and Stiles, so at least he didn’t have his back to an _Argent_ , but still. There’d been a few half-hearted attempts to put things back together after everything with Gerard and the kanima, but Allison had wounded, if not tried to kill, each of his bitten betas, and from what Isaac had said to him, he was pretty sure she’d aimed at least one of her knives towards Scott, too.

And that wasn’t even the only underlying tension in the lovingly decorated McCall living room, because Derek was a fucking disaster of an alpha who had no clue how to build a cohesive pack, or even one that could tolerate being in the same room all together.

Erica was sharper than ever, and she’d definitely packed on some muscle, which Derek was momentarily proud about, but also- he hadn’t been there to see it. And while Boyd was usually quiet and unnervingly observant, he hadn’t said a single word, a furious restraint which Derek felt keener than any hunter blade.

Derek shook himself internally and tried to focus back in on the conversation. He might as well get as much pack comfort out of this nightmarish ‘reunion’ as possible, since it didn’t seem likely that it would be happening again.

“Yeah, I love Davis,” Scott was saying, “It’s beautiful, and it’s not just me who bikes everywhere!” Stiles tossed a paper towel at him, and Derek could see his grin, even from his position mostly behind Stiles.

“The nearby woods are good for your wolf, too.” Derek nodded at Scott. One of his older cousins had gone there for that exact reason, and god, he needed to pay his therapist more, because it was definitely hurting less to think about that.

Scott looked up at him, somewhat surprised. “Yeah. And there’s already like, a ton of stories about weird howling out there, which is pretty cool.”

Stiles’ heartbeat ticked up a fraction at that, but Derek didn’t get a chance to even think about what was up with that, because Boyd was talking.

“So you’re werewolfing around campus, having the time of your life.” His eyes flashed gold, locked on Scott.

Derek closed his eyes. Well fuck, there went the moment of near-peace.

“Yeah, it’s been great, I love having to take out a shit ton of loans so I can afford to not have a roommate, since I’d murder them to death.” Scott scowled, jaw sharp and stubborn, gaze a clear challenge.

“At least you managed to go to college, werewolf bullshit and all. Some of us weren’t that lucky.” Boyd shrugged, his sarcasm and feigned indifference as much a weapon as Scott’s brash stubbornness.

Derek tried to cut in with a growl of “enough,” but it went ignored.

“Hey!” Stiles was, unsurprisingly, outraged. “Scott worked his ass off to get into UC Davis, so watch it.”

When Derek forced his eyes open, both Stiles and Boyd were standing, Stiles throwing his arms out and Boyd just staring at him, arms crossed.

“So did I, to get my scholarships, but none of you care about _that_ , do you?” Boyd rolled his shoulders and stared him down, but Stiles didn’t flinch.

“I have to agree with Boyd on the ‘life ruining werewolf nonsense’ front, you know.” Lydia didn’t even look up as she spoke, tapping away on her phone. “It really is the gift that keeps on giving.”

Derek opened his mouth to try to intervene again, his guts twisting into knots, but Scott caught his eye. “So much for ‘the bite is a gift’, Derek. Looks like I was right all along.”

“You don’t speak for all of us, McCall.” Erica snarled, rising to her feet too and jabbing Scott in the chest. “I know what the deal was when I took it, so cut it out with your holier than thou saviour shit.”

And then Allison chimed in. “Hey, leave Scott alone. He didn’t-”

Erica whirled around to face her, her eyes gleaming as she shifted into the beta form. “Oh, shut up, Argent. Why’re you even here? You gonna shoot us again?”

Over Scott’s indignant yelp and Allison’s firm “No,” Boyd zipped up his jacket and turned to Derek.

“How’s that pack you promised, _alpha_?” Boyd’s face was blank, cold. Derek clenched his fists by his sides and didn’t move as Boyd shoved out of the room and through the front door.

He drew in a deep breath, which was a mistake, because the fury and adrenaline coursing through the room did nothing to anchor him. Boyd was completely right, and too perceptive by half. Stiles was up in Erica’s face, Allison was snapping at Scott for acting like it was his place to stick up for her, and Derek watched as Isaac tossed a sarcastic line or two into the fray.

After a minute or so of increasingly loud yelling, it was Isaac who managed to kick Derek into gear. Not intentionally, but the slight hint of fear from him ran through Derek like a jolt. He stiffened, pushing off the wall and willing his claws to retract.

“Enough.” He growled, pulling Stiles back by the collar of his shirt and placing a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “This party is over. Done.”

Stiles flailed but didn’t stop him, and Scott shrugged Derek’s hand off almost the instant he put it there, but it had the desired effect.

“Yeah, okay.” Allison turned around, her back to the entire room of wolves, and picked up her coat. “Thanks for the invite, Scott, great party.”

Erica snorted out a laugh, and followed Allison out the door. Derek heard them stop on the porch, Allison biting out what had to be the beginnings of an apology, but he didn’t listen any further. He let go of Stiles and nodded to Isaac, gesturing towards the back door. He was far from real alpha material, but damn if he wasn’t going to check if his beta was okay.

Isaac looked somewhat confused, but followed Derek out, flinching when a motion-activated light flickered on.

Derek leaned against the brick wall, staring out at the somewhat unkempt garden. “Well, that went well.”

Stiles ducked into the kitchen rather than deal with the tension left simmering in the living room, and shared a look with Scott, who followed him, huffing out a nervous laugh. “Shit, man, great party.”

Scott groaned, flopping dramatically backwards like the old countertop was a fancy old-fashioned fainting couch. “Allison _hates_ me.”

Stiles grinned at him and popped up to sit on the counter next to him, letting his foot brush against Scott. “Nah, I don’t think it’s quite that bad. She’s just super independent, own-two-feet, and will cut you for assuming otherwise, right? Practically runs in the family.” He winced. Fuck.

Scott blinked at Stiles and then broke out into laughter. “God, Stiles.”

And fuck it, he might as well double down. Scott knew what he was like. “Probably a bad sign if your ex takes after her murderous mom, but hey, Allison’s special, right?”

“Oh my god, please never say that again.” Scott paused, then a dreamy look came over his face. “She really is special, though, huh.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, bumping his knee against Scott’s. “Never change dude, never change.”

Scott grinned at him, all dopey and lopsided and Stiles’ best friend, through and through. “I’m gonna have to come up with a new excuse to see her now, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, maybe asking her to hang out with a bunch of people she stabbed up isn’t the best way to see if she’s still into you.”

Scott snorted and choked on his laughter, which of course was fucking _hilarious_ and then they were both laughing, probably a little too loud.

After they’d both calmed down somewhat, Stiles added “There definitely aren’t any other werewolves out at UC Davis, though, right? Cause I looked into it and if I managed to miss a whole pack I’m gonna have to stab myself in the eyes for being so unobservant,”

“Dude, you checked it out for me?” Scott grinned, and Stiles felt the tense adrenaline inside him start to smooth out.

“Of course I did. I wasn’t exactly gonna make you do things completely solo, you know.”

“Course you wouldn’t. You liking it all the way out at Irvine?” Scott offered him a smile, twisting his fingers in the hem of his hoodie. Maybe the six hours of distance had done them some good, in the end.

Stiles whipped up a grin, keeping it lighthearted, surface level. “Oh man, dude, I think I might marry the library. Forget Lydia, that place is my _soulmate_ ,”

“Yeah?”

“Shit, they have a comics section, you’d love it, man.”

“Fuckin’ sweet, they got any really good stuff?” Scott nudged at his shoulder, sitting up from his dramatic sprawl. It was almost easy.

Stiles huffed out a breath, looking down at his fingers, which were twitching somewhat involuntarily. “Haven’t got a chance to check, I’ve been too busy,”

Scott looked at him, and damn, Stiles hated how well Scott could read him sometimes.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, haven’t you?”

Stiles glared at him. “No.” He sounded like a sullen child, even to himself.

Scott shoved at his shoulder, and Stiles went with it easily. “Dude, I know things have been weird, but like, you’re still my best friend.”

Stiles shrugged, and went for his good old tried and true deflection. “Yeah. You been able to keep the wolfy stuff under control, then? Even with Allison-”

The Scott of almost a year ago would’ve jumped right on that, lost himself in thoughts of Allison, but apparently not this Scott. “Yeah, definitely. Accidentally ended up in some meditation or whatever class, counting breaths, all that.”

“Aw, so I don’t have to chain you up and throw shit at you anymore?” Stiles grinned, and Scott shoved him again, nearly sending him sprawling until he grabbed Stiles’ arm, steadying him.

“Shut up, dude.”

Isaac sagged against the wall besides Derek, and laughed dryly. “I mean, I absolutely expected this to be a shitshow, so.”

Derek sighed, burying himself deep in the hurt of a pack that hated itself, layering it with all the other hurt and anger and self-hatred. In a lot of ways, it was a good thing that the wolves’ education had been fast, dirty, and focused on survival- they wouldn’t have any idea how to navigate and interpret the subtle signals that distinguished various emotions. This wasn’t about Derek and his _shit_ , it was about him, Isaac’s alpha, offering some small but arms-length comfort.

“I think we all were.”

Isaac grunted, and they lapsed into silence. It was awkward, but not tense. Not quite the companionship they’d struck up when Isaac was hiding out with Derek, but not the mess of confusion and rage that had developed afterwards. Maybe the time and distance was good for one thing, at least.

“So, you settled in well?” Derek caught Isaac’s nod and shrug out of the corner of his eye, and pushed on, dragging up the image of what his mother would have done. “College can be lonely, especially for wolves. Especially newly turned ones.” He didn’t actually _know_ that for certain, since his whole family had been born wolves, but it wasn’t a difficult guess to make, and it was even less difficult to present it as fact. He was the alpha, he shouldn’t show that kind of hesitation, uncertainty.

Isaac snorted. “Yeah, but I’ve made some… not friends? I don’t think you’re friends if you don’t see each other again _after_.”

Derek choked.

Isaac grinned. “Maybe I should drop out and make Supernatural Tinder, it’s a pretty big market.”

Derek couldn’t fucking breathe. And then he was laughing, quiet at first but building with what had to be something near to hysteria.

“Christ, Isaac, I was wondering if your roommate was mad at you for still leaving half-eaten takeout in the fridge for days, not about your sex life.”

Isaac tightened slightly, going back to the closed-off figure he’d been when they’d first come outside. Well, fuck.

“But, uh, it’s good to know that you’re… having fun?”

“Derek, you’re only two years older than me, stop sounding like a parent forced into giving the sex talk.”

Derek raised his eyebrows, because he was pretty sure any words out of his mouth would be a complete mess.

“But yeah, college is good. My Intro Psych professor was pretty cool. But also, you should’ve told us that kitsune were real, because I nearly had a heart attack when the guy told me not to hold back my shift.”

“You should be more careful.”

Because who knew what exactly, if anything, someone you were sleeping with knew about the supernatural? Who knew if any of them were actually safe to be around?

He was distantly aware of Isaac saying something in response, but Derek had no idea what the words actually were. God, he’d been so hopeful for the pack to find new friends, a new family, _better options_ than himself, that he’d been blinded to the possibility of them meeting someone who might want to hurt them. There was no way he could keep watch over all of them, too many miles apart, and he imagined college campuses didn’t have many dark corners or trees for him to hide out in.

The main threat would be the hunters, so if he could work out who the hunters were in the area- no, that wouldn’t work, there was no way he’d be able to piece together a full list. And that still would take weeks, likely months, and then change on a whim. _And_ there would be the ones who deliberately flew under the radar, and the hunter kids like Allison who wouldn’t be on any easily observable patrols or in those damn black SUVs, but who were hunters nonetheless.

And assuming that it would only be hunters who wanted to kill them, hurt them, _use_ them was a foolish one at best. It hadn’t, after all, been hunters who killed Laura. Hadn’t been hunters behind the Kanima, who’d paralysed him, massacred those deputies- at least not at first. And apparently, people just didn’t stay dead, not the ones who he hoped would. If he could get _Peter_ back, but not his sister, his alpha, who was to say that everything else that wanted to kill him, kill his pack, wasn’t secretly immortal?

Anyone else would’ve expected Scott to move on from Allison, especially with the distance and the floods of new, exciting people. But Stiles _knew_ him, even if sometimes it felt like Scott was a total stranger nowadays. Scott had clearly noticed that Stiles was something of a fucking mess, but he didn’t seem to pick up on how he hadn’t even come home for Christmas, let alone any of the other holidays.

So it wasn’t surprising that conversation drifted to Allison before long, especially with the awkward distance. “I could ask her to get coffee, right? Is that too much?”

After Stiles’ mom died, the McCalls and Stilinskis had spent Christmases together, at first just to stop Stiles and Scott from racing off to see each other and play with their new toys immediately and ignoring all the festivities, but it had settled into something relaxed and ritualistic. Scott handled the potatoes because it was the easiest for him to not fuck up, Stiles ran riot ‘supervising’ and juggling too many tasks at once, and everything was chaos and everything was home.

And then there were werewolves and kanimas and undead uncles stalking their days and their nights, and then despite all that, the nightmares, the blood and guts and sharp fear, Stiles had almost- well, thrived wasn’t the right word. But there’d been horrifying monsters and fangs and walls of muscles slamming him against things, and Stiles had found in himself the ability to stand firm, from time to time.

Even more than that- the more research he did into werewolves and their culture and all the other assorted things that went bump in the night, the more he yearned for it. A pack.

But Scott hated being a werewolf. Wanted nothing more than to be human again. To forget all of this, the monsters and mayhem and magic. And Stiles had to _know_ , and fuck if he knew which response was healthier, but the difference had driven a tight wedge between them both.

“But maybe I should just ask her on a date, you know?”

If it was just knowledge and a pack that Stiles was craving, though, then meeting and befriending the Cordova pack should’ve solved all his problems, and yet here he fucking was, listening to Scott talk about Allison and keeping an eye out on the front porch light that had yet to flick off from when Allison and Erica had left. And he hadn’t heard Boyd’s car start yet, and he was pretty sure Lydia was still in the living room, and Derek and Isaac were almost definitely just loitering in the backyard, and damn it all, this mess of teenage issues and violence was exactly what he wanted.

Stiles sighed, and turned to Scott. “I don’t know man, I’d talk to her but let her set the pace of things?”

“You think? Things are such a mess with all the hunter stuff.” Scott sighed, his jaw twitching in a way that said he would probably do what Stiles said, but that he was still conflicted and upset.

“She hasn’t left yet. Which I know you can tell, with your little wolfy ears. Go be a lovable goofball at her, yeah?” Stiles kicked at Scott’s shins, only somewhat succeeding.

Scott grinned. “That’s gotta be a good sign, right? That she’s still here?”

God, Stiles hoped it was. “Sure, dude. Go, talk to her.”

Scott bounced to his feet, grinning and offering Stiles a high five, which he dutifully returned. As soon as Scott had clicked the front door shut behind himself, Stiles stood up too. It was probably a stupid idea, but he was going to go bug their alpha.

The door beside Isaac swung open, and Derek tensed, pulling himself off the wall and forcing himself to keep from curling inwards. Big Bad Alphas didn’t make themselves small, they took up space. Demanded it.

It was just Stiles, who shut the door with minimal theatrics. “Hey, guys! How’s the brooding circle going?”

Stiles clapped a hand against Isaac’s shoulder and then stepped further out into the garden, wandering around and nudging at a plant pot with his toe.

“Derek almost gave me the sex talk and then reverted back to monosyllables, so I’d say it’s pretty peachy.”

Derek winced, but Stiles just snorted and nearly kicked the plant pot over. Apparently on top of supernatural and hunter threats, Derek also had to worry about _some_ of them tripping over their own feet and falling to their death. This was why he was never supposed to be an alpha, it was a nightmare.

“I can see if I can find some special werewolfy sex ed books, if you want. Though, you’d be responsible for all the porn that would involve, not me.”

“Yeah, like you don’t have enough weird porn already. I figured things out.”

“Ah, the hands on approach!”

“Don’t act like you have any experience with that, Stilinski.”

Stiles glared at Isaac, and Derek sighed. God, they could bounce off of each other like that for hours, and Derek didn’t know if he had it in him to stop them. At least Stiles and Isaac’s sarcastic barbs were less brutal and cutting than what the rest of them had to offer. And it could be entertaining to watch, though if either of them knew that Derek would never live it down.

“Hey, I might! Some drunk girl said I have nice hands!”

Derek, along with Isacc, presumably, stared at Stiles, who was waggling his fingers in a baffling yet unmistakable suggestive manner. Derek would probably never stop being confused by Stiles.

“That’s all you’ve got? An offhand compliment from a drunk girl who was probably saying nice things about everybody and crying the whole time?”

Stiles flushed and glared, easily proving Isaac right. Jesus, Laura had been the worst for that, even before Derek had started college himself. There had been so many nights of her just petting through his hair and telling him how much she loved him. And then she’d sober up in the morning, vanish into work for hours, and Derek would tear himself apart in their tiny apartment.

“Screw you, Isaac.”

Isaac just shrugged. “To be fair, I did bribe Kieran into telling me a bunch of shit over Thanksgiving. Also, Derek, you know that there’s a couple crocottas living on the outskirts of town, right? Harmless, except for-”

Stiles cut Isaac off, body stiff and rigid, eyes cold as hunter steel. Derek’s claws slid out immediately, scanning the yard for whatever had freaked Stiles out. “Kieran? Is that Kieran Humphrey?”

“Uh, yeah? Local dude, junior at UCLA?”

“He was a crocotta.” Isaac nodded at Stiles’ words, confusion radiating off him. Stiles started to pace, wrenching his hands through his hair. “He’s dead, under suspicious circumstances that don’t clearly point to murder. Not _normal_ murder, anyway.”

“Where?” Derek was growling, low in his chest. Fuck, this was _bad_. He’d been so preoccupied with his useless fucking angst that he apparently hadn’t noticed someone supernatural killed in his territory, and there was no way that this wasn’t a sign that things were going to get bad soon.

“Out in that shitty little development, a little ways east of the preserve.”

Derek nodded and began shrugging off his leather jacket. He’d be faster moving on four legs than two, especially with how wild the forest was in that area.

“Dude, what are you-”

“Shut up, Stiles. I’m handling this.”

Stiles stared at where Derek had vanished, hopping over the fence and disappearing with a rustling of bushes and a deep, low growl.

Well, fuck. “It’s not like I had anything useful to tell him, but still, jeez.”

Isaac snorted. “Not like that’s ever stopped you before.” Stiles just shot him a look and spun around back inside, taking a glance around the living room before deciding that it wasn’t worth the time it would take to unearth any of his shit. He had his keys, his laptop was at home, that was all he needed, beyond the eternal ‘more time’.

Well, he also needed his dad’s case files, but he knew where the safe was, and had a couple pretty good guesses at what the combination was, which was basically the same thing. It had to be.

He didn’t even look around as he slipped out and started the Jeep up, rubbing at his eyes and digging his nails into the steering wheel to keep his fingers from shaking. He had the name of one of the victims, and could get the rest, and then he could figure out what was going on before there were any other deaths. He _had_ to.

Stiles swore. Dad must’ve predicted Stiles wanting to sift through the files, and also must’ve been serious about him actually taking a break this summer.

He was on his knees on the floor, joints aching from the hardwood, and his eyes fucking _ached_ , okay, and he had no fucking idea what the code to the safe was. He’d tried several that his dad had used in the past, then had resorted to birthdays and anniversaries, and he should probably give up before he started in on the random numbers.

“Okay, okay, think. Numbers, numbers, numbers-” Stiles snapped his fingers repeatedly, hoping it somehow would spark inspiration. It didn’t. “Shit.”

He slumped backwards, bashing his head against the wall of the closet. Fuck, there was some kind of supernatural monster on the loose, targeting other supernatural monsters, or hey, maybe it was ‘just’ hunters! He didn’t fucking _know_ , because he couldn’t get his hands on the autopsy files or crime scene photos or fucking _anything at all, god damn it_. Stiles should’ve taken some of those coding classes, maybe then he’d be able to hack into the station’s systems and pull up the files from there?

But no, everything had gotten a serious upgrade after Matt Fucking Dahler, so even if he was as good as Danny Mahelani, he doubted he’d stand a chance.

God, fuck, okay, Dad had said nothing had been officially ruled a murder yet, but maybe the news had something? Stiles shot up, cracking his skull open on a shelf and knocking clothes everywhere. Fuck, he’d have to sort that out later, once he’d stopped being _useless_ and failing to pull up the information he needed to stop people from dying. To stop his friends from dying.

Okay, okay, laptop. Beacon Hills Tribune, skip past all the garbage about sports teams and the insufferable fucking mayor, jesus christ it wasn’t even election season, why was there so much about the mayor? Wait, was it election season? Stiles brought up a new tab and started typing, before realising what he was doing and slapping his hands against his cheeks to get himself to focus.

Fuck, he needed some caffiene, but no way in hell was he going to take a break to brew himself some coffee. Stiles rummaged around in the backpack at his feet for an energy drink while he scrolled down the news website with his other hand, and just when he found an article about the dead guy, his other hand came up empty. Fucking mixed feelings punch to the face, right there.

He sighed, somehow missing the shitty overpriced vending machine two floors down from where he usually spent his evenings, nights, and early mornings studying. God, he wished, for about the millionth time, that he could be in multiple places at once, or at least focus on more things. Or even just one thing! Whoever wrote this article was practically a robot, like, seriously. Routine well-wishes to the family, fill in the blank descriptions of the deceased, sheriff’s department refused to comment at this time, all the usual shit.

One of the family had seen Kieran just the day before he died, which was literally the only vaguely useful fact in the entire article. Stiles clenched his fists and clicked on the useful link to an article on one of the other victims. They hadn’t been officially connected yet, but apparently there were enough similarities for whichever algorithm ran the site’s recommendations. Blah blah blah, same shit as before.

Clenching his teeth to keep his internal screams from becoming _external_ , Stiles switched tacks, opening up a tab to google each of the three known victims. There were probably more, but they’d clearly flown under the radar since Dad had only mentioned those three. This Kieran guy had been somewhat good-looking, and Stiles couldn’t hold back a grin. Isaac had done well, apparently. Maria Ferriera had a Facebook page, but it was pretty well locked down, and she didn’t seem like she’d been the selfie-posting type. Not that a string of Facebook selfies would help him figure out who or what had killed her, but Stiles could hope, alright?

Alexis Morley had worked the graveyard shift at an all-night diner, it turned out, and Stiles made a mental note to check that the place where Boyd was working had good security cameras, and hopefully some security guards. Or at least a lack of ominous dark alleys, unlike the diner when he pulled it up on Street View. But he was pretty sure they’d all died in their homes, so maybe that wouldn’t even help?

Stiles had the sudden, awful realisation that if he had enhanced werewolf hearing he could probably use that to crack his dad’s safe, which, great! Another way his somewhat impulse decision to remain human was fucking everything up! He groaned, dragging his nails down his face.

Forcing himself to _fucking focus, dammit_ , he returned to sifting through google results.

As much as Derek wanted to just vanish into the woods from the McCall’s backyard, it just led to even more backyards. He slunk through their neighbour’s garden, heading around to the front. He could head down the street, cut across the roof of that one garage, and then-

Derek nearly jumped out of his fucking _skin_. His head snapped around to look in the direction of the noise he’d heard, cacophonous and unmistakable to his ears- the loading of a crossbow. He’d like to slink into the shadows, but the crossbow wielder had clearly already noticed him. All he hoped was that it was just an antsy neighbour into unusual weaponry, not a hunter. Anything but a hunter, really.

There was a soft gasp, and another click of the crossbow, the subtle creak of the string relaxing. Derek blinked, and then managed to get his brain to actually interpret what he was seeing rather than just panic about it. Dark hair, delicate floral pattern, sturdy looking ankle boots, and a small crossbow that she was slipping back into a holster under her skirt.

Allison Argent.

She offered him a weak smile. “Sorry. Just spooked me, didn’t realise it was-”

“It’s fine.” Derek cut her off. Allison’s scent spiked with something that Derek didn’t have time to analyse. He watched her over his shoulder as he crossed the street, but she just went back to join Scott and Erica on the McCall porch. He kept his ears trained on her even as he turned the corner and ducked into a small alleyway between two houses, but she didn’t say anything more, didn’t seem to reach for her crossbow again.

He didn’t like having to turn his back on an Argent, having to leave her alone with what was still his pack, if only on a technicality, but needs must.

Derek’s paws thundered through the forest as he ran, stinging as they got slashed open by rocks and twigs only to immediately heal. In the woods, you could basically either be loud and fast or silent and slow, and Derek really didn’t have the patience for a careful, measured gait right then.

Honestly, what had he been thinking? Offered the bite to a collection of lonely teenagers with nothing in common besides the fact that he liked them, expected that to somehow morph itself into a pack, a family, despite how little he deserved anything of the sort.

And he’d been so utterly focused on his own useless self, on giving the pack distance from him so they could safely leave, that he hadn’t noticed a threat on his own territory. A flock of roosting birds startled away from him, and he snorted. A threat besides Derek, drill-sergeant, asshole, liability. The shoes of a monster were the only ones that fit him, but at least they carried him fast through the woods, and didn't demand emotions and attachment and vulnerability.

Derek spurred himself on, ratcheting up his pace a notch.

To make things worse, he apparently hadn’t noticed a crocotta living in Beacon Hills. At least that suggested he wasn’t hostile or dangerous, but still- Derek should know everything that happened on his territory. He remembered as much from his mother, who had seemed to know everything about everyone, and might’ve even known about Kieran Humphrey, too. He’d have to ask Peter, whenever he saw him next.

But then again, maybe not. Peter wasn’t the same as the sly, friendly uncle he’d been before the fire, even after his resurrection. Which was a process Derek _really_ didn’t want to dwell on, so it was a good thing he was nearing the area Stiles had said the victim was found in.

He forced his feet to slow, steadying his heartbeat and testing each paw placement before he let his weight shift. Derek’s ears flicked around, and he tipped his nose up, testing the air. There were a few distant heartbeats, a couple of mice, a colony of insects working their way through a fallen tree. A ways ahead were a couple of houses, and he could hear the noise of a TV.

He should’ve gotten an address or something before heading out here, waited half a second before bolting. Too impulsive, too jumpy, always going off half cocked- Derek bit down on a snarl. Fuck, he was an idiot. Still, no time to waste, to go back, to reconsider.

Derek pushed forwards, prowling through the undergrowth, pelt collecting burs, until he could see the lights from upstairs windows through the trees. He was considering peering through fences and windows until he found something, but then he caught a faint scent of rot. His head tilted, and he mentally cursed himself for such a doglike movement.

Carefully, each step delicate and slow, he followed the rot, wrinkling his nose when it got stronger. It was almost definitely just leftovers from a fox kill, or some small animal that’d gotten hit by a car and then crawled into the woods to die, but he had nothing else to go on, and had to check it out regardless.

The fur on his back prickled as he ducked under a fallen branch, leaves rustling against his shoulders in a way he hadn’t expected. Fuck, there went silent. Still, he was stalking the trail of something that smelled long-dead, so it probably didn’t matter if he wasn’t quite the perfect stealth predator. Which, knowing Derek’s fucking luck, meant it absolutely did and he was about to get his ass kicked and then tortured by something or someone awful.

He stepped neatly around a tree, nose twitching. His hackles were up, his tail tight and low to the ground, and, fuck-ups aside, he was moving next to silently. This form was good for something, at least.

Derek flicked his eyes around him, a keen predator’s gaze, trained to catch any hint of movement. There was a squirrel in a tree to his right, frozen rock solid, clearly knowing the score. A soft, late-night breeze rustled through the branches, ferns and brambles swaying against each other, and at first, Derek didn’t know if it was actually movement that his eyes had snapped to.

He kept walking, slow, certain, huge canine paws deftly navigating fallen leaves and branches. His eyes never left that spot, dark and distant, ahead and to the left. Steady, steady, watch for another sign. His ears were focused, but he wasn’t picking up anything above the typical small heartbeats and shifting of trees.

Derek stared, not even daring to blink. _There_. It was dark, tree cover blocking out the moonlight, but there was something that had just moved in the dim. He slunk around another tree, trusting his paws to find him a path, because there was no way he was going to look down.

The scent of rot was almost overwhelming here. Perhaps it was just some scavenger, feeding on whatever lay there decomposing? A raccoon, some sort of bird, something. Just an animal, picking over the bones of the dead.

Or it was whatever had killed the crocotta, returning to the scene of the crime.

His eyes glowed red, and he saw clearer in the darkness for a second, a glimpse of something twisted and large, before there was movement again- not the hesitant shifting of before, but a leap, closing the distance.

Derek had barely a second to react, rearing up to catch the _thing_ with his teeth, rather than letting it land on his back like he’d seen big cats do in nature documentaries as a kid. A part of his brain wondered if he would be able to heal from jaws snapping his spinal cord, even as he tore at flesh, sending his attacker careening off behind him.

He twisted in the air, turning to face it, but he was too slow, _how the hell was he too slow_ , to do anything besides flatten himself to the ground, avoiding the worst of the lunge, but feeling sharp claws graze his back, just to the side of his spine. In the nightmare of injuries that was Derek’s life, this one didn’t even rate.

This time, he waited for the leap, legs tight and ready beneath him, ears straining in anticipation of a telltale crackle of leaves and twigs from the thing pushing off the ground. Derek snarled, springing upwards and colliding into it with force, slamming it off its path. The wind was knocked out of him, and he turned his red-eyed gaze on where it had to have landed, but all he saw was darkness, vague shapes that had to be limbs. Four legged, it seemed, tough, powerful muscles.

And horrifically quick, Derek thought, unable to hold back a howl of agony when those claws sunk into him again, deep in the back of his neck, dangerously close to his spinal cord. He wasn’t a great fighter, but he was still an alpha fucking werewolf, shouldn’t be cornered like this, playing defense in the dark with something lunging at him from a new direction each time.

Like a pit of stones in his stomach, he remembered overhearing his mom tell Laura that an alpha was only as strong as their pack.

He gritted his teeth into a snarl, dashing to a tree and using it to springboard himself back the way he came, raking his claws across a pursuing- face, he thought? There was the distinctive scent of blood cutting through the decay, not just his own, now, and he howled in triumph. Never let them know you’re afraid, always act like you have everything under control.

He braced himself for the next collision, fur bristling, but something was _wrong_. He yelped, muscles twitching as his fur stood on end-

And then his fur started- not _receding_ , like when he shifted, but falling away, like it was peeling, tearing, ripping away from him in sections. Derek _screamed_.

Stiles was exhausted. His fingers ached and wouldn’t stop shaking and his head was throbbing. Probably from caffeine withdrawal, but the music he’d turned on absolutely wasn’t helping. But he needed to stay awake, so loud, fast-paced, and almost violent was the order of the day, pumped into the headphones he never used to bother with. (It turns out roommates _especially_ don’t like aggressive loud music at stupid hours of the night!)

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. All three of the victims had lived pretty quiet lives, and he had no clue if the other two were supernatural creatures or not- all of which made _sense_ , but he was still pissed. He was the information guy, big daddy research, and god, he was half-delirious. Big daddy research, what in the _fuck_.

He laughed, well into hysteria, and pushed up out of his chair, tangling himself in his headphone wires on his way to the bathroom. There, he splashed water over his face, drenching the front of his shirt at the same time, which was a free bonus in the mission of keeping himself awake and just on this edge of functional. Stiles wasn’t quite to the point of doing frantic exercise to summon up some adrenaline, but it would only be an hour or so before he hit it. Luckily, the panic of realising his dad and his ramshackle barely-counted-as-a-pack were in danger was abso-fucking-loutely providing on the adrenaline front, so there was that.

Okay, tabling the digging into individual victims for now. Looking into recent less-suspicous deaths would have go on the list too, and fuck it, he started scrawling it down on the back of some old scrap paper. Right, list. Victim’s lives, associates, all that, then all the recent deaths, recent animal bullshit, probably worth yelling at Deaton at some point, working out what the hunters in the area were up to, working out _who_ the local hunters were, looking up what Isaac had said Kieran was…

Hey, that was an idea! Stiles flung himself out of his chair and in the direction of the heaviest box of books he’d brought home with him, the ones that had been a gift from Ammara when she’d opened the invitation to join the Cordova pack, and man, that still fucking stung like a bitch. Okay, crocotta, right. They had to have a human form, at least, or be able to pass for humans, which meant his best bet was the grey book with the creepy drawings on the first few pages.

Stiles was lifting up a stack of books to get at the one he wanted when his phone rang, which of course meant he jumped out of his skin and dropped them all on his fingers. Fuck, and these were all expensive as hell, not meant to be dropped, and heavy as all get out, so his fingers were fucking killing him.

Shit, that had better not be someone getting hurt and calling him. Better than them getting hurt and _not_ calling him, but either way, fuck god please no.

It was Scott. “Hey, Stiles, heard you ran off.”

He didn’t sound hurt or worried, so Stiles relaxed and went back to juggling his book stack, more carefully this time, tucking his phone against his shoulder. “Uh, yeah.”

“Boyd, Isaac, and Lydia are on their way to help you research whatever it is that’s got you and Derek all freaked out, so don’t panic when they break in your window, yeah?”

Stiles blinked. What?

“Figured it was good to warn you, so you don’t hit them with a baseball bat.”

“Hey, that was one time!” Stiles protested, completely on autopilot.

“Yeah, and then all those other times- anyway, I’ve gotta go, Erica’s gonna yell at me.” Scott hung up.

Stiles pulled out the book, and then paused to stare blankly at his phone. What?

Whatever. Like, he figured if anyone could talk people into joining him on a research quest or whatever Scott had said, it would be Scott, god damn, but also there was no way. Maybe they’d just come and stare at him while he dug through things like Derek had done that one time?

Okay, fuck, sidetracked, he was beginning to learn that there was no way to predict either Scott, or Lydia, or anyone else, really, and there was no point. Work to be done, ancient werewolf books to sift through.

God, the drawings in this book were creepy as fuck, and he hoped nobody had looked over his shoulder while he’d been working on this kind of stuff, because they’d definitely think he was some kind of weird cultist. But it had a really good section on various supernatural creatures and how they blended into society, with advice that had probably been really useful back in the 18th Century or whatever.

“Okay, crocotta, crocotta, crocotta- fuck _yes_!” He fistpumped, sliding back in his chair before hunching over to stare at what the book said. Wolf-dog, hyena-like, from India or Ethiopia, sure, fine, also apparently in Northern California. They’d had an ancient South American revenge lizard last year, apparently geographical origin meant nothing here. He was just reading a sentence about how they could imitate the voices of humans, notably the _loved ones of their victims_ in a lot of legends, when there was a knock at his window.

“Stilinski, come open the door, Lydia says she’s not climbing your house in heels.” Oh fuck, that was Boyd’s voice, right? The crocotta guy was dead, and apparently not evil, so probably not outside and imitating Boyd, right?

Stiles whirled around, and oh thank _god_ , there was Boyd at his window, moon just peeking out over his shoulder. Man, it was getting late.

Boyd’s eyes narrowed, and Stiles flung himself upwards. Right, if it was really Boyd, maybe he should really let him in. And apparently Lydia? And Isaac too, because he tumbled in through the window right after Boyd.

“Okay, sure, you guys just… stay up here, and I’ll. Let Lydia in? Into my house? Where I live? Into my room? For some reason?”

Boyd snorted, and Isaac’s eyebrows hit the ceiling.

Isaac looked like he was about to say something stupid and cutting, so Stiles rushed out of his room, half-tripped his way down the stairs, and swung the front door open, blinking rapidly when he saw Lydia there, laptop folded under her arm.

“Stiles. Isaac and Scott said something about murders? You’re not keeping me in the dark this time, understood?” She smiled, as if he’d answered, and then pushed past him into the house.

“O- _kay_ then.” Stiles blinked, rubbed at his eyes, and then headed back upstairs.

“What do we have so far?” Lydia picked up his laptop and made space for hers, settling herself down at his desk. Stiles kind of wanted to protest. There wasn’t really a _we_ here, was the thing, but also there were two werewolves and a Lydia in his room, apparently insisting there was?

Stiles shook himself, shaking his hands out to get his fingers to stop trembling. It didn’t work, but it pulled him together enough to actually respond. “Three victims, possibly more. None are clearly murder, but I haven’t managed to break into my dad’s case files. That book has some stuff on what you said Kieran was, and I am out of caffeine and it’s the fucking worst.”

Isaac laughed, a rare, genuine sound that Stiles couldn’t help but like. “I’ll go put a pot of coffee on, assuming you have some?”

Stiles nodded. “Uh, thanks?”

Isaac just lifted a hand as he left the room. Stiles turned back around, and the grey book was on Lydia’s lap, with her bent over it and tracing a finger down the index page.

“Okay, sure, look through that. Oh, actually! H _ey_ , Boyd, you wanna put those fluffy wolf ears to work? Got a safe to crack!”

Derek wasn’t a wolf any more.

Derek wasn’t a wolf any more and the thing was _still out there_ , stalking him, circling him.

He pushed himself to his feet- two, not four, why was it not _four_ , what was happening to him- and then shoved the thought out of his mind. Or, he did as much as he could, with the sucking, crawling _wrongness_ that was on his skin, under it, pulsing across his two-fold soul. Not the time.

He tried to flick his claws out, and failed. Okay, perfect. Looked like this was having to go the hardest way possible. At least he was pretty sure he was still healing, so he’d last for a while, make this into a game of endurance, a test of how much pain he could bear before his inevitable death. God, that was both fitting and wildly, overdramatically morbid.

The monster lunged again, and Derek did his best to react, but he’d been too slow even as a wolf. Claws tore up his chest, coming far too close to his throat. He snarled with the pain, throwing out a wild punch and gritting his teeth when it landed, jarring his shoulder.

This time, there was no pause before the next attack, an enormous weight slamming into his shoulders and chest, sending him careening backwards. Derek leaned into the fall, catching himself in the soft dirt and tilting to one side, getting enough of an angle to stop himself from being pinned.

The creature clearly realised what he had done, and shifted tactics, sinking its claws deep, deep into him, just below his ribcage. Bracing himself, Derek clutched at its arm, skinking in his claws- fuck, no _claws_. He swung up with his other hand, aiming to land a blow at where an elbow would be if it had vaguely human proportions, and likely getting it right, because the sharp, burning claws were dragging out of him, one of them catching on a rib as it wrenched its hand back out.

Derek howled with pain, the sound coming out all wrong from his too-human throat, and his heart clenched as he stared up at the thing half on top of him. He couldn’t see shit, vague impressions of a silhouette against the night sky, but even that _terrified_ him.

He shoved upwards, away, ribs and lungs protesting fiercely, but he did it anyway, pushing through the pain. He felt something internally tearing from the movement, but staggered upright, catching himself on a small tree trunk. Fight to the end, at all costs.

Derek braced himself for the next blow, flinging his body to one side as the tree he’d leant on exploded into a hail of bark. He flipped his feet under himself, but failed to dodge the next blow because _holy shit_ , that was a howl in the distance, not even that far away.

He made to return the call, human vocal cords and all, but fuck, he shouldn’t have stopped paying attention, that was claws on his face, raking down, tearing his cheek open, glancing off his teeth. He screamed.

Well, that was close to a howl, right? If he had the air to laugh, he would’ve, dry and bitter, but as it was, his body was screaming, and everything felt _wrong_ , like he was being peeled alive. He distantly remembered making pasta sauce with his dad, dunking the tomatoes into boiling water so their skin would just slide right off, no need for a peeler.

He reacted on instinct to the next lunge, leg swinging up and managing to land a lucky kick, just a glancing blow, but just enough that the slice to his upper arm didn’t completely sever a muscle. Something in him rallied with a noise in the forest, and he jerked forwards, on the offensive for once, and sunk his teeth into flesh.

Which, while it must’ve hurt the creature, was a fucking _terrible_ idea. It tasted like death on his tongue, sharp, rotting, like long congealed blood. He gagged, staggering backwards.

Derek bared his teeth, a useless gesture, and struggled to get his feet under him, widen his stance in preparation for the next attack. There was a noise in the dark, a sick gurgle, and Derek stumbled, staring into the woods like that would make him more able to see.

There was a howl, close by, close enough to be nearly deafening.

Derek sucked in a breath, staggered backwards, and yelled out, a sharp bark of “over here.”

Branches cracked and swayed, and holy shit, it was Scott, shifted and snarling, leaping through the air and in between Derek and the thing’s lunge, which he hadn’t even slightly seen coming, fuck, he’d probably lost too much blood.

He made to follow, to dive into the tangle of thorns that the pair of them had landed in, but an arrow wizzed right past his ear, making Derek freeze like he’d just turned into a statue. There was a sick _thump_ , and that noise almost hurt more than anything else, until Scott’s voice rang out, lispy but clear.

“Allison, another!”

Derek breathed again.

Allison loosed another arrow, and it must have landed true, because a second later there was a rustling of leaves, a sick squelching sound, a pained rasp.

Derek’s eyes glowed red, and the world righted itself, the beta shift shivering across his skin, the shifting of bone and muscle more comforting than it had ever been before. He spotted Erica off to one side, and gestured after the creature. “Erica, cut it off.”

Her eyes gleamed in the dark, and she was off, running at an angle to Scott, who was slashing at the thing’s heels. And shit, it would’ve worked too, _should’ve_ worked, but the dark figure put on an unbelievable burst of speed and ducked under Erica’s outstretched claws, spinning around her and sprinting up a slope. An arrow thunked into a tree just behind it, and then it was gone.

Derek swayed in place. He had no idea what the fuck was going on.

A branch snapped behind him, and he turned, speed sapped away by pain and confusion. It was Allison, and he knew she could move quieter than that. Which meant the noise had been deliberate. Huh.

Allison reached out, bow slung over her shoulder, and it took Derek a long moment of just staring at her to realise what she was offering. He hesitated, instincts clamouring in opposite directions, and then he nodded, leaning on her and letting her wrap her arm under his shoulders, press her hand into the mess of his ribcage, slowing the blood flow.

“Do you know what that was?” She asked, voice carefully soft and quiet. He shook his head, wincing when the torn skin of his face pulled, though the damage there no longer went all the way through. Allison nodded and shifted her grip on him, arm slipping somewhat with his blood.

Derek closed his eyes, drawing in a breath, and when he opened them again, they were crimson red.

“Call Stiles. I have some things to look into, but he’ll need the information.”

Scott nodded, pulling out his phone, but Erica frowned, tilting her head and very obviously scenting the air. “You look like you had a fight with a meat grinder and lost, you sure, boss?” She flashed her fangs and smirked at his scowl.

Scott looked up from his phone. “They’re at Stiles’ house, we can go there. Get you some clothes on the way, too.” Scott blushed and very deliberately looked away. Derek resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Fine. Here, I can walk.” He shrugged off Allison and eased his body into movement. Everything fucking _hurt_ , each breath ragged, catching on something, both in his face and his chest. His legs were mostly okay, that was what mattered.

“So, super zombie?” Erica asked as they set off through the woods.

Allison hummed, and then answered, “No, zombies have to be summoned and apparently just suck at everything.”

“Huh.”

Derek should probably re-assert his control, his command, but his body ached and stung and the healing burnt like hell, and he had to admit he was still thoroughly shaken from being forced out of the full shift. He was still in the beta form, had shifted to it immediately the second he could, and he should shift back, never usually spent long like this, but.

It had come too close, and he’d been sure he was about to die for far too long, there. But, shit, members of his pack had come to rescue him, and he had no idea how, or more importantly, _why_.

And, he realised, as Erica started quizzing Allison on zombie facts, Scott catching a branch before it could lash him in the face, having them near him was settling something in his chest, filling the empty hole left by draining adrenaline.

Stiles’ room was definitely cramped with eight people in it. Lydia had yet to relinquish Stiles’ desk chair, and Boyd, Allison, and Erica had crammed onto his bed. There’d been a moment where it looked like Derek might join them, but Stiles had thrust a hand out to stop him, because seriously, the dude was wearing nothing but pink sweatpants and was absolutely drenched in blood.

“Dude, no, I’m not washing all that blood out of my sheets. Come on, let me- bathroom, jesus.”

Derek glared at him, but trailed after Stiles into the bathroom. His ribcage was a mess of gore and blood, and Stiles was resolutely _not fucking looking at that shit_ , so he tugged open the linen closet and tossed a washcloth at Derek.

“Here, clean some of that shit up. I’ll get you a towel too, yeah, and then you can tell me what in the _fuck_ happened out there.”

Derek stared at him for a beat, then wetted the washcloth and began swiping it down his arms, wincing occasionally. Stiles watched, the water immediately turning red. Derek leaned his shoulder against the wall when he wrung out the cloth, and Stiles sighed.

He grabbed another cloth and started in on Derek’s back with a muttered “Okay, you better not kill me for this, big guy.”

Derek caught his eye in the mirror and snapped his teeth, but it was clearly halfhearted, so Stiles just snorted and wiped away a clot of blood.

It took a couple of minutes, but they uh- not exactly got Derek _clean_ , but no longer covered in deep, dark red stains, and that was basically enough. Stiles nodded, tossing his cloth into the sink with a splat and shoving the towel at Derek.

Leaving Derek to dry his own self off, Stiles wandered back into his room, clapping his hands together and cutting off whatever the fuck quiet conversations had been going on. “Okay then, Scooby Gang! We got some info, but I really think Mr. Grumpy Gorefest should go first, yeah?”

He felt Derek looming behind him, and whirled around. The eyebrows of doom were still impressive, don’t get him wrong, but damp, when wrapped in an old Mickey Mouse towel and ill-fitting pink sweatpants, Derek’s glaring didn’t really have the same effect.

Derek just sighed and pushed into the room, taking up a spot leaning on Stiles’ windowsill. “I went out to near where the dead guy was found, something attacked me.”

“Coulda guessed that, but sure,” Isaac muttered, and Stiles snorted despite himself, sinking to sit on the floor next to his desk and pulling his laptop onto his lap.

Derek’s scowl increased, but then he sneezed, and they lost several minutes to abject horror at the gorefest that came out of Derek’s nose.

Once everything had calmed down, in part thanks to a fucking bone rattling growl from Derek, he started talking again, and Stiles pulled up a new document to start making notes.

“It came out of the dark, lots of circling and lunging, too fast to do anything but react. I was in the full shift, and then-” Derek paused, eyes gleaming red. “-then it caught me in the neck, and the shift was torn away from me.”

“Like, you lost it because of the pain, or…” Scott tilted his head, his toe tapping against Stiles’ knee rhythmically.

“It was _torn_ away from me. Like the wolf was… peeled away.”

Stiles blinked rapidly. Holy shit.

“Did you lose any other werewolf abilities? The teeth, the hearing?” Lydia didn’t even look up from her- no, _Stiles’_ book, but he could see her frowning.

“No teeth, claws, or senses, I don’t think. Healing was fine. Scott tackled it, Allison shot it, and then Scott and Erica chased it off.” Derek crossed his arms, which was undercut somewhat by how he drew the towel tighter around himself at the same time.

Stiles nodded, and chimed in. “It’s definitely targeting supernatural creatures. Kieran Humphrey was a crocotta, Alexis Morely was something of a witch, and we haven’t been able to pin down the third, Maria Ferreira, but signs point to her at least being in the know. Boyd, uh, the autopsies?”

Boyd offered him a small smile. “Seemed pretty normal, but they were all strange in similar ways.”

Bouncing in his spot, Stiles explained, “Some bruising on the chest, like, a _weird_ amount of decay for bodies that were probably found pretty quickly- Alexis left her shift, got in her car, and then the next _day_ they found the body, so she should’ve been in way better shape-”

“I looked over it, he’s right. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s apparently corpses.” Isaac interrupted wryly.

“ _And_ they all have a weird cut on the back on their neck, which, sound _uncomfortably familiar_ to anyone? Like, it’s not the Kanima again, because _no_ , and Jackson’s in England and unless Derek’s bitten another kid with the exact same serious _issues_ , there’s no way, but holy fuck, right?” Stiles bit his lip, not daring to look up.

There was a scattering of nervous laughter, and Lydia added a terse “Quite.”

Stiles’ fingers paused over his laptop, unable to think of anything besides the _horror_ of that night in the station, the blood, his _dad_. There couldn’t be another kanima, because no way would it get that close again and still miss, still leave him relatively untouched. For a given measure of untouched, considering the way Lydia’s posture had gone tight, the way Scott’s tapping had stopped.

“So, going after the supernaturally inclined, draining their power- that sounds like hunter bullshit to me.” Erica folded her arms, shifting away from Allison on the bed.

“Could be.” Derek agreed.

Stiles couldn’t help but glance at Allison, and it seemed like the same went for everyone else.

She sighed, clearly forcing her smile. “There’s nothing like that that I know about, but I can have a look.”

Scott nodded eagerly in the corner, but no one else seemed even slightly convinced, and the tension crackled through the room. A quick glance showed that, yeah, there was a fair amount of hairy sideburns and weird eyebrows going around.

Stiles opened his mouth. “Okay, it’s probably not even hunters, though! Besides, we already know that when Allison wants to kill you guys, she uses ordinary weapons! Like, knives and stuff- and fuck, that _really_ isn’t helping oh shit, uh-”

“Yeah, she uses knives.” Isaac’s voice was cold and hard, almost sarcastically detached.

“Hey-” Scott interrupted, then clearly thought better of it. Hey, he could learn!

There was a almost sub-aural growl from Stiles’ bed, and he whipped his head around. “Hey, don’t break my bed!”

But of course, Erica didn’t listen, claws snagging on Stiles’ bedspread as she tried to simultaneously loom and keep her distance. She was a little intimidating, sure, but she had nothing on Derek’s growly shove-y bullshit.

Salvation came from Boyd, who sighed, and thunked his head against the wall. He, for one, hadn’t moved away from Allison when the topic had come up, and he looked somewhat irritated. “Will you all shut up? She’s telling the truth, you know that. And if it was a hunter weapon, why would she have saved Derek’s sorry ass from it?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Also, that thing didn’t look human.” Scott added, tilting his chin up as if daring someone to challenge him.

Nobody did, and oh _man_ , was the silence that followed awkward. Looked like a job for Stiles, which, _god_ , seriously, why did he always have to do this shit?

“Okay, Scott, can you like- I _know_ you’re not an artist, trust me I fucking know that, jesus buddy, but can you draw what you saw or something? And everyone else can go home or join this fucking study group that’s been foisted on my poor, poor bedroom.” If Stiles was a braver man, he would’ve glared around the room until everyone agreed, but no fucking way, he absolutely wasn’t. So instead he just stared down at his laptop screen, wincing at the hideous colour scheme of the website he was looking at, which was practically geocities old. Ugh.

There wasn’t any noise from the room, so Stiles narrowed his eyes at his screen. “Come on!” He waved his hand about, and then returned to sparkly text hell. Why were the most weird and awful websites the best sources of information? Was he in purgatory? Hell?

He couldn’t focus with all the tension around him, but Stiles just fumbled a hand at the desk his head was resting against, snagging his coffee cup and nearly bringing it crashing down on his face, until someone helpfully pressed it into his hand. There was a sigh, and then movement, and he risked a glance up to see Scott sifting through his cup of half-dead pens and Derek picking up a book from the pile.

“Oh, you probably don’t want that one, the guy who wrote it is some kind of gore fetishist with a real fixation on vampires. Try uh, literally anything else.” Derek raised his eyebrows at Stiles, but grabbed another book, and in the corner Stiles could hear Isaac asking Allison to take a look at the autopsy files. Isaac was right, seeing if her hunter training would pick up on anything was a good idea. Huh, maybe this study group bullshit was a good idea after all.

The sky was brightening in preparation for sunrise when Derek’s stomach started to rumble. Well, it had probably been rumbling for hours, but he’d been thoroughly fixated on the book he was reading. Where in the hell Stiles had gotten a veritable collection of accurate supernatural history books, he had no clue.

Derek looked up, and holy shit, he swore his heart grew by three sizes. The pack was sprawled out across Stiles’ room, either sleeping or well on their way in that direction. As he watched, Isaac shifted where he was folded half on, half off the bed and pressed his face against Boyd’s leg, snuffling.

He stretched, pushing off the windowsill and placing the book down, wincing when his back cracked and strained. Ugh, he hated having to soothe recently healed muscles. He could really do with something to eat, but didn’t want to just take something from Stiles’ house without asking- huh.

Stiles was still awake, half-hidden behind the side of his desk, bobbing slightly to his headphones, which must be on extremely quietly for Derek to not have heard anything. Derek glanced behind himself, frowning at the early morning sky.

He crouched down and pushed Stiles’ laptop shut, cutting off his protest with a glare. Derek tilted his head in the direction of the pile of sleeping werewolves on Stiles’ bed, which, god, he took a moment to note how pathetic it was that that pile was making him the proudest he’d ever been as an alpha.

Stiles narrowed his eyes, but followed Derek down to the kitchen. With Stiles actually there and conscious, Derek had no more qualms about rifling through the cupboards for something to eat, grabbing a loaf of bread and holding it up over his shoulder in question.

“Sure, fine, make yourself at home.” Stiles’ voice was raspy, coarse from disuse and likely also exhaustion. Derek loaded up the toaster, and then poured a glass of water, holding it out towards Stiles without so much of a look in his direction. “Geez, fine.”

Derek snorted, then turned to face him. “You’re still up.”

“Yeah, so are you.” At Derek’s look, Stiles sighed and sank to perch in a chair. “It’s not like I’m a stranger to all-nighters, even more now thanks to college.”

“You look more tired than I’ve ever seen you. Earlier, too.” Derek had no idea what was driving him to speak up, but he suspected it had something to do with the warm, sleep-soft feelings he was getting drip fed into him from the barely-there pack bond. That, and his own exhaustion, which he could feel creeping at the edges of his awareness.

Stiles waved this away with a hand. “Finals, you know? So many papers, so little time.”

“Finals were a week ago.” He hated that he knew that, that he’d almost unwittingly built a schedule of what was happening in everyone’s lives, but, well, he had.

Stiles wrinkled his nose, and stood up. “Yeah, well, I’m good.”

Derek stepped across the kitchen to snag his toast from the toaster, and frowned when he turned around to see Stiles poking at the coffee machine. He shoved the toast into his mouth, and slapped Stiles’ hands away. Stiles jumped, his heartbeat spiking, and shot a dark look at Derek.

“Dude, the hell? Coffee! Nectar of the gods! Life juice! _Stiles_ juice!”

“You need sleep.” Derek swallowed the last of his toast, and Stiles threw his hands up in the air. Derek stared him down.

“Ugh, whatever. I’m gonna go grab my laptop and run you through what I’ve got, yeah? See how it interfaces with your born-wolf-iness.” Stiles shot him one last glare and dashed back up the stairs, sticking to the sides where they wouldn’t creak.

Derek rolled his eyes and started slicing an apple onto a plate. He really hoped Stiles had found something, because while everything he’d been reading had been interesting as hell, it had been completely unuseful.

He shivered, remembering the raw awful way that his wolf had been stripped from him, staring down at the knife in his hand. He’d always had the wolf. Even in the aftermath of- of _everything_ , even before he could do the full shift, there’d been the solace of the moon, the power thrumming through his muscles, the pulsing promise of _pack_ , even as it had been shattered, killed. Even after _Laura_ , he’d had the shift, the claws and the fangs and the posturing, had picked it up like a safety blanket that he had yet to let go of.

A hand wrapped around his wrist, and Derek’s awareness snapped into sharp focus. How the fuck had someone managed to get close to him without him realising- was he that bad at existing that he couldn’t even pick up on threats any more- but it was Stiles, quiet and calm.

“Hey, big guy. Drop the knife, yeah? Not like you need it anyway, you know?” Derek forced his hand to unclench, and Stiles’ fingers stayed wrapped around him as he let go of the knife. Stiles kept talking. “Left my laptop on the couch, figured that was better than having you looming over me at the kitchen table.”

Derek hummed, and Stiles apparently took it as the assent that it was. “Cool, okay.” He let go of Derek finally, snagging a slice of apple and turning away, tilting his head at him when he stepped through into the living room. Derek followed him.

“So.” Stiles said, around a mouthful of apple. Derek rolled his eyes. “Ain't got much of specifics, but I’ve got a whole bunch of just- _stuff_.”

“Useful stuff?” Derek frowned, settling down next to Stiles and peering at his laptop. He had about a million tabs and documents open, and there was probably some order to the chaos, but Derek wasn’t sure he’d be able to find it. Better to let Stiles make sense of his own work, either way.

“Eh,” Stiles sighed. “Shit, maybe? Nothing concrete, nothing actually _good_ , but you never know.”

Derek nodded, scarfing down another slice of apple.

“So I’ve been going through recent obituaries, and, uh, here-” Stiles pulled up a complicated looking spreadsheet, but at least it was colour coded. “We don’t actually know who was natural causes or just non-supernatural shit, so I’ve been working on a system to predict the likelihood of them being victims of our, uh, rot guy.”

Derek leaned further against Stiles, squinting at the screen. “I recognise that name.” He said, pointing at the column labeled ‘Callie Hayes’. “My mom knew her. I don’t know if that means she’s a victim, but.”

Stiles was already tapping away. “Fuck, okay, cool! I’ll bump up her numbers to a suspected supernatural, which’ll do some math stuff. You guys can steal me some autopsies or coroners reports and other stuff, right?”

Derek nodded. Stiles absentmindedly rubbed at his eyes, clapping a hand against his face. Derek narrowed his eyes.

“Cool, I’ll narrow the list so you aren’t stealing records on _everyone_ who’s died in Beacon Hills in the last year and a half.”

Derek frowned. “You’re looking back that far?”

Stiles just shrugged, tipping his head back. Derek caught his eyes snagging on the stretch of Stiles’ throat, and tore them away, back to the colour coded tangle of numbers. “Yeah, well, I have no way of knowing when this all started. It hit my dad’s radar just over two months back, when Ferriera died, but that doesn’t actually mean shit. I’d rather widen the net too far than miss something that might save your asses, especially when you’re already getting ripped to shreds out there.”

“No worse than-”

“Than any of the other awful, gross shit, yeah, I know. I was the one with the bone saw, remember?” Stiles looked at him, grinning. It didn’t quite meet his eyes, but Derek couldn’t blame him. “Okay, I want you to have a look through this, tell me if anything jumps out to you, yeah? I apologize in advance for how ugly the formatting is, it _really_ isn’t my fault.”

Derek watched Stiles for another moment, and then nodded, turning his attention to where Stiles was pointing. In another half an hour, the sun was going to start peeking over the trees on the horizon.

At first, Derek wasn’t sure why he woke up. The position he was in wasn’t quite comfortable, but he was warm, and something smelled nice. Then he blinked, frowning at a distant echo of pain as if it was coming from the bottom of a well that was miles away.

Awareness flooded back into him, and he jolted upright, knocking Stiles off his shoulder. There were two fewer heartbeats in the house than there had been when he’d apparently drifted off to sleep.

“What?” Stiles groaned, blinking.

“Someone’s hurt.” Derek looked out of the window, and frowned. Allison’s car was gone. So it was probably her, and then who else? Fuck, had she _taken_ someone?

Stiles was flinging himself up the stairs after a second, his heartbeat spiking way up from its previous sleep-slow. Derek followed, gripping his shoulder and pushing past him at the last second so he was the first one in the room, just in case. He felt wild, unhinged.

He’d been right about Allison. The second was Erica.

“ _Up_.” Derek snarled, shoving at Scott, at Boyd. “Erica and Allison are gone, one of them’s hurt.” There was no way it was Allison that he was feeling down the pack bond, not with the ocean of mistrust and family baggage, but he had to admit that that didn’t mean she wasn’t hurt, too. His therapist kept telling him to consider options that weren’t the worst case, trying to coax him into not assuming the worst outcome of every scenario was going to come to fruition.

“Scotty, I need you to wake the fuck up _right now_!” Stiles yelled, on his knees and digging through the pile of coats and bags by his bedroom door. “Allison’s bag and Erica’s jacket are both gone.”

Derek nodded, pulling a blinking Isaac to his feet. Okay, so they likely left willingly. “Can you find them?”

“Maybe, fuck, I don’t-” Stiles started, but Scott was growling, claws out.

“Allison’s in danger?” His eyes flashed gold at Derek, and _fuck_ , they didn’t have time for this shit.

Derek stalked across the room, catching Scott by the back of his shirt, him having apparently decided to leave through the window, probably to run around looking for her. Derek got a slice of claws to his other arm as a thanks, and he reacted without thinking, slamming Scott into the wall, catching his arm and pinning it behind Scott’s back.

“I need you to _keep your shit together_ or I’ll have to waste time dealing with you.” Scott only struggled, and Derek let him rear back just enough to meet his eyes. “We’ll find her. _Slower_ if you do something _stupid_.” He punctuated his last word with another shove against the wall, and then let Scott go.

“How did none of you hear them leaving?” Lydia hissed, leaning across Stiles to poke at his laptop, where Derek fucking _prayed_ he was tracking down Erica and Allison.

“You didn’t either!” Isaac said, finishing fumbling with his shoes.

Scott stepped away from the wall with a few shaky breaths, pulling the shift back with each one, and Derek nodded at him, grim.

“I don’t have _werewolf_ hearing!”

The trouble was, she was right. Derek should’ve heard them waking and coming downstairs, or, failing that, getting in Allison’s car and driving off. He slept light, normally. Or, well, he’d always relied on the comfort of pack to get him to drift off into any sort of deep sleep.

“Shut up.” Derek snapped, crossing his arms, hiding the shaking and forcing himself into drill-sergeant confident alpha. “Stiles, can you do that on the move?”

“No, I need the wifi. Is there anywhere either of them might go? It looks willing, they at least took Allison’s car.”

“Then you stay here, and call us when you have something.”

Stiles turned to look at Derek at that, eyes red from exhaustion, face twisted in anger. “Oh, fuck no, dude, you are _not_ leaving me behind, that shit never ends well-”

“Stiles.”

“Nope! Not fucking happening! You need the Jeep anyway, you won’t fit into one car, also you’re a fucking idiot, and just- no!”

Derek growled at him, but Stiles was up on his feet by then, and he shoved at Derek’s chest. Derek just raised his eyebrows, not letting the push move him an inch.

“Got it!” Lydia called, snapping her fingers at them imperiously. “West side of town, mountain road.”

Scott, who was already shoving Stiles out the door, perked up in understanding, and some relief. “There’s a coffee place out that way that Allison likes.”

“Great, that helps us a ton.” Isaac scowled as they all scattered down the stairs, Stiles taking a detour to the bathroom. Derek was about to yell at him about that choice timing when he popped back out, a first aid kit under his arm.

“Lydia, you take Scott and Boyd in your car. Isaac, you’re with Stiles.” Derek made to tug off his borrowed shirt, but Scott stopped him.

Derek glared at Scott, stepping away and letting a snarl build in his throat.

“Derek wants to run the distance.” Scott groaned, as Isaac climbed into the backseat of Stiles’ Jeep.

“Oh, fuck no-” Stiles hissed, gunning the engine.

Lydia shot Derek a death glare and pointed at the Jeep. “Derek Hale, get in the car.”

When Derek opened his mouth to protest, she just blinked at him, face a perfectly vacant mask.

Derek got in the car.

Stiles winced as he took a turn way too tight, clenching his fists on the wheel as his tires squealed. It was a 15 minute drive to the address Lydia had pulled up, and he was eternally grateful for her somehow knowing Allison’s login info, or at least for having better guesses than he had, but fuck, couldn’t it have been closer?

Okay, okay, steady, push back the fear and find the information.

“So they went willingly, took their stuff.” He said, drumming his hands on the wheel and swerving around a corner. “But I’d be surprised if someone managed to kidnap someone from a house full of wolves, so that was already out.”

“Unless the call’s coming from inside the house.” Isaac muttered, and Stiles barely even flinched at Derek’s growl beside him.

Stiles gritted his teeth, and shook his head. “No. Allison wouldn’t- and even if she _did_ , she’d do a better job. Wait till we’re all asleep, and then…” Stiles cut himself off before he could say ‘diffuse wolfsbane into the air like her mom did’, gunning the engine instead. Scott had almost fucking _died_ , ran out of air, just after Stiles had finally stopped worrying about him stopping breathing.

He shook himself. “So they went somewhere and got jumped. You were out near here last night, right, Derek?”

Derek grunted beside him, and Stiles risked a glance, taking in clenched fists and a tight jaw, before he fixed his gaze back on Lydia’s car in front of him. “Other side of that new development.”

“Not far, though. And you’re all healed up from that, right?

Derek nodded in Stiles’ peripheral vision, and he bit his lip, giving a sharp nod in response.

There was that, at least. Stiles had a _lot_ of things to say about werewolves, but at least they seemed to almost always recover from whatever disgusting gruesome injuries they ended up with, which, while it absolutely didn’t stop him from worrying, was somewhat of a comfort.

They were getting close. Stiles squinted ahead at Lydia’s little sports car, hoping that Derek would tell him if she stopped, and that he’d do it with enough time for Stiles to slow down from the frankly terrifying speed he was pushing the Jeep to. He didn’t dare let off, though, not when a creature that, from what he could piece together from Derek’s story, and from what Scott had told him later, had thoroughly bested an alpha werewolf. Not that Derek had never lost a fight, but that meant that one beta and a hunter with, fuck, less than a year of training, they likely didn’t stand a chance.

Derek put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, and he jumped again. Damn.

“Slow down, I think they see something.”

Stiles got that, he really did, but if Lydia or whoever had seen something then maybe they’d be in danger, and that meant that every second Stiles was behind them was a second they could be hurt or killed, and it was Scott, and Lydia, and he didn’t know Boyd as well but he would still flip his shit if he died, so. So Stiles eased his foot off the gas, but that didn’t exactly slow him down to below the speed limit.

Isaac leaned forwards, between Stiles and Derek, his hand clenching on the seat. “How fast can you bring this thing to a stop?”

“Pretty fast?”

Derek had his hand on the door handle, tense and ready to spring.

“Oh fuck, you’re both gonna jump out no matter how fast I’m going, aren’t you? Oh god, please don’t break your legs before we even know what’s going on?”

Stiles flailed, eyes fixed forwards, one hand flying to rest on the handbrake. God, he was going to pay for this in mechanic bills, but fuck, he could just about make out Allison in the middle of the road up ahead, and then there was Scott and Boyd flying out of Lydia’s car, and shit shit shit, okay, here they went.

He turned the wheel right as he pulled the handbrake so that Derek’s side of the car would be facing Allison, and the panic at how this was going _nothing_ like it did in the movies dropped straight out of him along with his stomach.

Derek flung himself out of the Jeep, Isaac right behind him, and Stiles just stared for a second too long. Allison’s car was a _wreck_ , off the side of the road right before a pile of road maintenance equipment, all the windows smashed out (smashed _in_ , his brain helpfully noted) and one of the doors was ripped clean off its hinges. Allison herself was bloody, wild-eyed, and pointing a crossbow into the woods.

He followed her gaze, and then tossed himself out the car, nearly braining himself on the asphalt.

Erica was just inside the treeline, her arm hanging off her at a horrible _wrong_ angle. Above her, something was moving in the trees.

Stiles sprinted over to Allison, yelping when she whipped the crossbow in his direction. She nodded at him, and returned to aiming at the trees, so Stiles came closer. “What-”

His questions were cut off by a thunderous snarl, distinctly coming from Erica. She lashed out at Scott, who yelped out a shocked and somewhat angry “Hey!”

“Watch it!” Was her reply, and then there was a yell from deeper into the woods, and Stiles started sprinting towards it, ducking around trees and flinging himself forwards in a desperate attempt to stay upright when he tripped over a branch.

“Isaac!” Derek roared, and there was the unmistakable sound of werewolf violence, growls and ripping flesh.

“It’s-” Erica panted, as Stiles drew closer to her. “In the trees. Ambush. From behind.” Her arm was barely still attached at the shoulder, bone and muscle and too-fast spurts of blood.

Stiles felt sick. His brain kept ticking, though, even as he struggled to pull his eyes away from Erica’s arm. She couldn’t mean that they were ambushed in the car- or, not _just_ that, because that much was blindingly obvious. So it was leaping out of the trees at them, which was why she’d flipped out on Scott, probably, because she must’ve thought he was whatever had attacked them. God, how she and Allison had held it off for this long was beyond Stiles, and it terrified him.

There was movement off to one side, and a flutter in the trees above him. Stiles tensed and stared up, catching a glimpse of a dark shape scrambling across branches, too big, too heavy.

Which meant that when Scott _howled_ in pain somewhere deeper in the woods, it had to be from another wolf, confused and hyper-vigilant in the dim morning light. _Fuck_ , they were gonna kill themselves out here, before the monster in the trees even had a chance.

“Guys!” He yelled, but there was another scream, from another direction this time, and all the werewolf hearing in the world meant nothing if they were all too panicked and angry and confused and _stupid_ to listen. Shit, he didn’t even know what he was going to say to help. Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_

Stiles whirled around, but Erica was gone too, leaving the most horrifying trail of blood in the _world_ all over the branches and leaves, and god, how much could werewolf healing compensate for overwhelming bloodloss? He’d seen them recover from some awful stuff, but how much blood could their bodies _make_ in a short period of time? Oh god, Erica was going to pass out in the woods somewhere and be easy pickings for whatever was- whatever was currently ripping into his friends, his _pack_.

The fear whirled deeper in Stiles, hooking into the darkest parts of himself, and there it morphed into rage, into action. He dashed back to the Jeep, barely sparing a glance for Allison and Lydia standing back to back, Allison with her crossbow, Lydia with a small handgun, and then he was throwing himself across the passenger seat, wrenching open the glove compartment.

“Come on, come on, come-” Stiles’ fingers met cold metal, and he hissed in relief. This better fucking work. He brought the dog whistle to his lips and blew it with all his might, for several prolonged seconds, before pulling it away to yell into the woods.

“Pair up, assholes! Stay in sight! Stop _killing each other!_ ”

Stiles shoved himself back out of the Jeep, hand still clutching the whistle, staring into the trees. He ran over to Allison and Lydia, momentarily freaking out when Allison tossed him a knife before he realised it was sheathed. “Jesus _fuck_ ,” He muttered, and then nodded.

Apparently that was enough for Team Human to sync up, because they started stalking into the woods, Stiles at the lead, for some reason. Well, that reason was probably because he had the short range weapon, and enough protective fury to hopefully save all their sorry asses, despite his complete lack of knife skills.

“We should regroup.” Allison said, a few paces behind Stiles. “Keep talking, so they know where we are?”

Oh, that was a good idea! And _well_ within Stiles’ skillset, unlike the _knife in his hands_. He might’ve been better off with his bare hands, hands that were stained red with blood. He didn’t let himself think about that.

“Okay, regroup, go! Hey, wolfies, come to papa, god, don’t worry, I’m never going to say that ever again so you don’t have to brain me for that. Has someone got eyes on Erica? Hey, Erica, you there? Fuck, please don’t be passed out, I have no clue how wolves deal with blood loss, god please fuck, you better be okay.”

“Over here!” A voice called, and that was Isaac, okay, good.

“Cool, heading your way, dude.”

They jogged through the trees, and Stiles felt somewhat like he was in a horror movie. But then there was Isaac and Erica, almost back to back, one of Isaac’s hands reaching behind him to touch her. Stiles took a deep breath in relief.

Derek felt like his ears were still ringing from the damn whistle Stiles had blown, but it had been a good idea. It was supposed to be his job to give out orders like that, to cut down on the chaos, but Derek was so fucking _relieved_ that he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He drew in shaky breaths, trying to focus. There was a pair of heartbeats off to his left, and, if it was still one creature like it had been last night, and if the pack had followed Stiles’ orders, then they were probably two of his wolves.

Derek stalked through the woods towards them, purposely stepping on a branch when he drew close, hoping to give them warning. Which turned out to be a really good plan, since Boyd managed to stop himself mid-lunge at Derek without actually connecting. Scott was behind him, still somewhat bloody from where Derek had mistakenly lashed out in his direction not more than a minute previous.

He pushed down on his own panic and remorse, letting his eyes flash red. “Scott, you’re on distraction. If we see it, you keep it busy, me and Boyd will back you up.”

Scott nodded, half grin, half snarl.

“Boyd, you pick out where the others are and keep us headed that way. If we find Allison we’ll want her on distraction too, keeping it moving.” Boyd blinked, tilted his head to listen, and started walking. Derek kept his eyes fixed upwards, to the branches, and followed him, Scott stalking the woods beside him, as focused as Derek’d ever seen him.

This was good, but he had no way of knowing if it’d be enough. Fuck, he hoped Stiles had enough information to call out some sort of weakness, something to give them an edge against this unknown enemy. The woods reeked of rancid meat and Erica’s blood.

“Over here!” Isaac yelled in the distance, and Derek didn’t even have to say anything for them all to take off, Scott putting on an incredible burst of speed and taking up the lead. Derek let him, forcing himself to keep his senses wide and sharp, refusing to focus in on one thing and let them get ambushed.

There was the twang-thunk of a crossbow, and ahead of Derek, Scott leapt up into the trees, springing off a low branch to slice at something just below the canopy. _That_ was when Derek broke out into his highest speed, racing through the trees to get to the rest of his pack, skidding in front of them just in time to collide with a sickly, dark, rotting monster.

His muscles screamed, and he waited for the pull, for his wolf to be torn away, but it didn’t come. Instead, Isaac leapt over him, snarling fury, raking his claws across the thing that had sliced into Derek, before it darted away, back into the trees.

Derek shoved upright, and took a quick measure of the situation. Allison and Lydia were back to back with a crossbow and a gun, Erica beside them with Stiles pressing on her shoulder with his shirt. Boyd was circling them, slow and careful, and Scott was braced in a tree, ready to spring. Shit, this was almost- this was almost how an actual, proper, in more than name only, pack functioned.

Hell, it absolutely was, no almost about it.

Something rustled in the trees, Allison barked out a quick “Seven o’clock!”, and after a beat, Scott leapt for it, catching a branch and using that to direct his swing, claws connecting. She fired her crossbow, and Derek snarled, but it didn’t even brush Scott, just sunk into a tree on the other side of the creature to him. Smart, herding it into his claws, because it dodged, and Scott sliced at it again before he crashed to the leaves, landing in a roll.

“See if you can bring it down to the ground.” Derek’s head snapped around, trying to pinpoint a location.

“Lydia, there-” Scott yelled, already leaping into the air. Derek snarled and moved to join him, but a gunshot cracked through the trees, startling whatever birds were still in the area. Scott crashed back down to the ground with a thud, and Derek crouched over him, eyes above them both.

“It’s testing each direction.” Boyd said, free of any fang-borne lisping. “Wants a weakness.”

“Then don’t _show_ it one.” Erica snarled, her spiking heartbeat accompanied by a series of whispered apologies from Stiles.

The other option, Derek knew, was to deliberately show a weakness, a chink in their armour, offer it as bait, and then spring. Their best bet would be Erica or Stiles, the wounded or the unarmed, though as Derek glanced back, he saw a glint of a blade in the hand that wasn’t pressing down on Erica’s shoulder, so perhaps not. Plus, there was no way he was going to have anyone but himself play bait, take that risk.

Either way, a trap wasn’t going to happen. They were working well together now, sure, but they lacked the seamless cohesion that was needed for such a high risk play, and Derek had no guarantee that anyone would listen to his orders and act on them without argument.

 _And_ they didn’t know if the creature understood and could hear what they were saying, which would immediately render the whole thing moot. No, Erica was right, they just had to shore up, hold strong.

“Isaac, stick with Erica and Stiles.” Derek murmured, conscious that they might have an audience. As soon as Isaac had moved, a branch snapped in that direction, and Derek didn’t even think before flinging himself after it, a thunderous growl building in his throat.

He caught a glimpse of wide, milky-white eyes, barely missed it with his claws, and then watched as it sprung back up into the trees, this time heading away from his pack.

“It’s running.” Derek said, not turning his head back to look at them.

“Do you think it’s going to loop back, or do we have time to bail? We’re probably too far out for someone to have heard anything, but…” Stiles trailed off, and Derek tilted his head to scent the air, taking the time to pick through all the various quiet forest sounds.

“Start heading back to the road. I’ll go ahead and check it’s clear. Keep your eyes and ears open.” Derek stared at the pack for a moment, and then nodded, before turning and dashing off into the woods, holding himself back from the full shift.

Stiles watched Derek vanish into the woods, and turned his attention back to Erica and his bloodstained shirt. He absently knew he was getting cold in the morning air, and that his hand was aching, but he kept up the firm pressure on Erica’s shoulder. He was pretty sure it was healing, that the wound wasn’t as bad as it had been when he’d first seen it, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.

“Okay, Erica- I’m gonna focus on you, and you stop me if I’m about to walk into something, yeah? And uh, catch me when I inevitably trip over nothing. Hm, okay, maybe someone else should-”

Allison handed her crossbow off to Lydia and stepped in. “Here, I can.” Stiles glanced up at Erica, who nodded, so Allison slid her hand next to Stiles’, switching out. Allison drew in a shaky breath, and Stiles started walking, checking over Scott and Isaac as he did. “Thank you for keeping it off of me. You got hurt protecting me, and I can’t thank you enough.”

Stiles blinked in surprise at Allison’s words, but then, he’d seen the scene back at the roadside. It was clear they’d tried to fend it off from inside, and then that had failed, and it was equally clear the monster could deal massive amounts of damage from close range. He narrowed his eyes at Scott, at the blood and rips in his clothes. Looked mostly superficial, likely mostly from his tree monkey antics, but still, Stiles worried.

He stumbled over a tree root, and Isaac caught his arm, keeping him upright. “Thanks.” Stiles smiled at him. A tiny jolt of panic hit him, and he checked behind them, but Boyd and Lydia were bringing up the rear, clearly sweeping the forest for danger, so his mind was immediately put at ease.

Derek didn’t appear with any dire warnings, and there weren’t any growls or pained yelps, so Stiles stepped out onto the road when they reached it, Scott at his side. He squinted around for a second, before he spotted Derek _literally perched on the roof of Stiles’ Jeep_ , holy fucking shit.

“Jesus, dude, you’ll dent the roof!” Stiles yelled, jogging out to flail at him before his brain caught up. Derek leapt off and landed like, directly in front of Stiles, which gave him a minor heart attack. He wouldn’t give Derek the satisfaction, though, just narrowed his eyes at him and met his stare.

“Guys, grab the first aid kit!” Scott yelled, sounding somewhat amused. Stiles dreaded to think what he thought was so funny. Not that he had to, because he was _sure_ Scott would let him know at some point.

Stiles pushed past Derek, grabbing the heavy duty kit from the back of the Jeep and jogging over to where everyone else was resting against Lydia’s car. “Scott, your vet training totally applies here, right? Cause I don’t know if the shitty course I took equipped me for-” He gestured at Erica. She bared her teeth at him, but she was slumped weakly against the car door, so.

Stiles handed the bag to Scott, and then fixed his gaze on Allison. He put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back as Scott, and apparently also Derek, moved in on Erica. She frowned at him, but he just produced a pair of tweezers and a roll of bandages. “I saw the glass, dude. Which, shit, we’re gonna have to clean that up.”

Allison followed Stiles’ gaze to her likely totalled car, and grimaced. Still, she remained quiet as Stiles checked her hands and forearms for glass, wrapping a bandage around the worst of her injuries, a jagged line up her wrist and into her palm.

“Your dad teach you anything about cleaning up this shit?”

Allison laughed. “Some. I think our best bet here is disguising the damage. I- Derek?”

Derek turned to face her.

“My dad’s going to find out that we, or at least _I_ got attacked.” She sighed, visibly steeling herself. “What do you want me to tell him?”

Derek growled softly, and Stiles winced. God, he hated this, but he imagined Derek did even more. Allison was great, really, he genuinely liked her, but did Scott _have_ to have this epic fated love story with the daughter of a family of werewolf hunters?

“If you call Allison’s father, we can leave her car behind and go get breakfast instead. I don’t know about you, but I prefer waffles to crime scene clean up.” Lydia said, locking eyes with Derek and opening her car door but not getting in.

Derek sighed, screwing his eyes shut, before he sagged a little where he stood. “Yeah. Erica needs food, and so do the rest of you.” To Allison, he added, “Tell Chris as little as you can. We’ll work out the details while we eat.”

Stiles couldn’t help but grin in relief, gently squeezing a mostly uninjured part of Allison’s arm. “Hey Scott, Dennys?”

“Shit yeah, dude!” Scott laughed, somehow not put off by the enormous amount of blood he was covered in.

Bundling everyone into the two functioning cars they had available was an interesting process, but they managed it, and Isaac even managed to sniff out a clean shirt for Stiles, so he didn’t end up walking shirtless into a Dennys, covered in substantially more blood than the time he and Scott had been that one time in the summer of their Freshman year. Derek had even bundled Erica into his leather jacket, so while they definitely all looked a mess, it wasn’t too bad. Besides, it was a Dennys, they probably weren’t the weirdest thing that week.

The eight of them filled up a booth and then a little more, Scott pulling up a chair and a preemptive table for more food space, which was a little rude but also totally going to be necessary. Stiles was starving.

“Did it have to be here?” Lydia sighed, eyeing the decor distrustfully.

“I’m about to inhale so much coffee and pancakes that it would be fiscally irresponsible if we went anywhere else.” Stiles said, grinning and grabbing a fistful of packets from the little condiment thing. Across from him, Erica grabbed his hand and started pulling packets out of it. “Hey!”

“I’m getting rid of the salt. Unless you like it that way, Stilinski, you freak.” She flashed her teeth at him, but she was still looking way too pale for comfort.

Stiles opened his mouth to retort, but then there was a jug of coffee in front of him, and Derek was sliding into the booth beside him. So, basically, _much_ more important things. He resisted the temptation to just down the first cup, instead clutching it to his chest.

“You just ordered a shit ton of everything, didn’t you?” Isaac asked, and Derek shrugged.

Before long, their food came, and Stiles poured his second cup of coffee while he waited for the fray to die down. That took a while, so it was actually his _third_ cup that he ended up pouring maple syrup into, blinking hazily at the steady stream of it.

“Stiles?” Allison asked. Stiles finished pouring the syrup, setting it down before looking up. “Did you just-”

Stiles just snorted, swirling his cup around to make it dissolve faster. “What, it’s good! I’ve done a lot of weird shit with my caffeine.”

Scott laughed in agreement, and then, while Stiles was drinking, he felt his eyes on him. Stiles peered up, eyes narrowed.

“How much sleep did you get?” Ah, shit. Scott knew him too well.

“Yeah, like, you’ve been looking rough, dude.” Isaac added, helpfully. Stiles tried to kick him under the table, but there were way too many legs, and there was no way that would end well.

“Uh, what time actually is it? And when did we, you know. Avengers Assemble.”

“Seven.” Scott said, around a huge mouthful of bacon. That was a thought, actually, bacon.

Plus, stuffing his face would buy him time to think! Which he really needed to both do the real math and then do the math of his inevitable lie, both of which were made harder by the sleep deprivation rotting his brain. But hey, he was a pro at all of that, graduated up to the big leagues and everything!

Ah shit, except Derek probably knew the actual answer, since Stiles was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep on him. “Derek, when’d I fall asleep?” He said, also through a mouthful of food. Mmm, food.

Derek frowned, and stabbed at his pancakes. “Last I remember, it was 4:30, so not long after that.”

Stiles did the math. Huh, not too bad. The adrenaline was probably the reason he wasn’t all groggy and sleep muzzy, but that worked, too, and now he had caffeine and research to do.

“I’ll catch up later, gotta see if I can use this to figure some shit out. Shit, you guys must’ve seen it real up close and personal, spill.” Stiles flailed at Erica, pulling out his phone with his other hand.

Erica grimaced. Yeah, probably a traumatic experience, damn. But he needed to know, because dredging up uncomfortable experiences sure beat out having more of them.

“I don’t know. It looked freaky, rotten like Derek said, just like last night. Stupid fast.” Erica glanced at Allison. “I’d say zombie, really, except Allison says it’s not.”

“Definitely not. ” Allison said, staring down at her food. “Fast, and smart, too. Got us out the car, tried to split us up, and that’s strategy, problem solving. Zombies are mindless.”

“Still a lot like a dead body, though.” Isaac said, grimacing at his food. “Bloated, skin falling off, and it smelled right, too. Well, not _right_ , and not like a normal corpse, but.”

“Lots of things might seem dead or undead without being zombies.” Derek pitched in from beside Stiles, their elbows knocking together.

Boyd grunted from his spot by the window. “Can we wait until after breakfast?”

“ _Yeah_ , that’s not a bad idea. Oh! Lydia- when the fuck did you get a gun? I was like, way too scared to be horny, but I mean, damn.” Stiles waggled his eyebrows at her, and she raised hers incredulously, despite her small smile.

“Well.” She said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Well, I used to carry pepper spray, but then I got ripped open on the lacrosse field, my ex-boyfriend turned into a murder lizard, and then I started finding dead bodies, hallucinating, and brought a man back to life. It was time for an upgrade.”

“In more than just the weaponry,” Isaac muttered, but of course, everyone heard him, and Stiles couldn’t help but snort despite himself. Isaac was definitely an asshole sometimes, but he was good people, and even though Stiles didn’t always like it, he could be funny as hell.

“What, like it’s hard?” Derek’s voice was barely a whisper, but holy fuck, Stiles totally heard him.

“Holy shit, what? Derek Hale, joking? Has watched Legally Blonde? Is it Christmas? Am I dreaming? Would there be more or less blood if I was dreaming?”

Derek just rolled his eyes, taking a bite of eggs. “It’s a good movie, stop acting weird. I’m pretty sure it’s why Laura wanted to be a lawyer.”

And shit, Stiles must actually be dreaming. He bumped his shoulder against Derek’s, offering him a smile. Scott was distantly picking up the conversation, keeping it moving, so Stiles could have this moment. Because Scott _knew_ , had been witness to how long it had taken Stiles to be able to mention his mom in casual conversation. They both knew what this must mean, for Derek.

The look Derek offered Stiles was quiet, fragile, but there was definitely the hint of a smile.

Stiles kept their shoulders pressed together even after he’d rejoined the flow of conversation, a steady, uncomplicated reassurance.

Derek waited until they were just mopping up the dregs, soaking in the companionable laughter and the press of Stiles against him until he felt as soggy as his pancakes. “Okay.” He said, steeling himself.

“Allison, talk to your father, tell him we’re handling it.” Hopefully that would buy them a couple more days before Callaghan and his goons found out and got involved. “And I don’t want any of you going out alone. Stick to at least pairs, if not more.”

“It still attacked the two of us,” Erica started, and Derek sighed.

“But Derek’s right,” Scott butted in, wrinkling his nose. “As much as I hate that.” Derek was confused for a moment, but then he caught Scott glancing at Allison, and everything made more sense. It was painfully clear to all of them that, despite how competent Allison was, if it had just been her out there, then they wouldn’t be having this conversation.

“Text me where you are, and when you’re leaving somewhere. Or-” Derek knew he was going to regret what he said next, but he did it anyway. “Or one of you can set up a group chat.” There was whooping. He talked over them. “ _Just_ for information. I don’t want important things being lost in…” Derek gestured at Stiles, who was still pressed close up against him. “Nonsense.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out at him. “I can set up two, one for just facts and emergencies, and the other for sending puppies that look like Scott. But, no, that’s a good idea. Means I don’t have to try to install trackers on all of you chucklefucks.”

“Aww, you’d do that for me?” Erica batted her eyelashes, grinning. Her heartbeat didn’t quite match her tone.

“I’m surprised you haven’t already. At least on Scott.” Boyd rumbled, eyebrow raised.

Stiles spluttered, and Scott snorted. “He tried once, when we were kids. So many lectures about invasion of privacy, dude.”

Stiles flipped him off, and redirected. “Okay, where’s everyone wanting to go after this?” It was a good diversion, Derek would give him that, because the table immediately dissolved into plans and schedules.

Derek pulled Scott to the side as they left the Dennys, waiting until everyone started clambering into cars. The wolves would likely still be able to hear him, but it was the gesture that counted. Scott narrowed his eyes at Derek, and Derek couldn’t hold back a scowl.

Which wasn’t a great start, but he’d have to make do. He liked Scott, he just needed to remind himself of that sometimes. A lot of the time. Kid was stubborn as all hell.

Derek bit his tongue, and then squeezed Scott’s shoulder. “You did good, earlier. Yesterday.”

Scott just blinked at him. “What?” He looked like he was trying to figure out Derek’s angle, which, shit, that sucked.

“You got everyone together. Saved my ass. Not the most traditional Second there is, but you don’t fill the role too bad.” Derek internally winced, hoping that it didn’t end up coming out sounding too possessive. Scott wanted to be able to do his own thing, he’d learned that the _hard_ way.

“I- huh.” He laughed, tilting his head at Derek like a dang puppy. How he could be _that_ and also the man who’d played Gerard Argent so well, Derek had no fucking clue, but he could, and it worked, somehow. “You’re not going to start ordering me around again, are you?”

Derek bit back some kind of noise, though he wasn’t sure if it was a laugh or a sigh. “Because that ever worked on you.”

Scott laughed, eyes bright. Huh. “Hey, maybe you can teach old dogs new tricks!” Derek scowled, and then Scott added, “What, uh, actually is a Second, though?”

God, he’d really failed at teaching them how to be werewolves, hadn’t he? He couldn’t beat up on his past self too much, had done enough of it back then, but man, he could’ve done so much better. Or worse, Derek supposed.

“Second in command. Usually more of a trusted pack member who keeps everyone else happy and in line, but rebellious little shit seems to be working well for you. So who am I to talk.” Derek had been a terrible Second, too, had only had the role because it was him or a then comatose Peter, and neither him nor Laura had been ready to expand their tiny pack. He wonders how she did it, sometimes, and it hurts every time.

“Oh, like a middle manager! Or a secretary!”

Derek’s eye twitched.

“But not the receptionist kind, the cool one.”

Derek looked to the sky for patience and answers as to why this was his life. Scott clapped a hand on his shoulder and headed to join the others, so Derek followed him. Stiles looked almost _fond_ when Derek clambered into the passenger seat, so Derek shoved him.

Stiles ended up heading to the Argent house along with Allison and Isaac after everyone finally got their shit out of his bedroom. Scott had made a face at him like he was going to insist on Stiles getting some rest, but then he’d gotten distracted with making heart-eyes at Allison, who definitely noticed, judging by her blush. So, win-win.

What wasn’t a win-win, though, was Derek noticing this and kidnapping Stiles’ laptop and pile of research notes, saying that Stiles needed a break. He’d protested, but Derek had just sighed at him and said that he wouldn’t make Stiles sleep, that it was a compromise, and Stiles had folded.

Isaac ended up sprawling all over the Argents’ little outdoor couch, closing his eyes and pulling a blanket over his lap, so there was nobody to save Allison from Stiles’ Stilesness, which might be a bad move, but hey! He was _super_ caffeinated, everything was great.

He plonked down next to her on the grass, and then jumped when he felt something unusual in his pocket. “Hey, your knife! Here, uh, take this away from me before I kill somebody.”

Allison laughed, taking the knife from Stiles and setting it down on the ground between them. “Still clumsy, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s a disaster.”

They sat in silence for a moment, which was probably fine, but Stiles was practically allergic to silence sometimes, so. So he just started talking.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna talk about Scott. Or give you the shovel talk. That’d be like, super awkward and also kind of presumptuous, because I know Scott has this whole ‘fated love’ thing going on, but _I_ know that this is the real world. Just with bonus werewolves. But like, he’s a good guy and he’d probably let you rip his heart out with a knife, so if you could not do that- shit, that’s talking about Scott, huh?”

Stiles buried his face in his hands. Allison laughed, poking at Stiles’ knee with her toe. The Argent’s backyard was nice, with a well maintained lawn and pruned hedges.

“I know.” She said, simply, as if it was clear which part of Stiles’ flood of words she was responding to. Hell, maybe it was all of it.

“I’m not going to stab Scott,” Allison continued, staring at a rosebush. “Or anyone else, but…”

“Yeah, sailed ships and all that.”

Stiles tipped backwards until he was lying horizontal, sprawled out on the grass. “I get it, you know?” He mumbled.

“Huh?” Allison asked, and Stiles blinked up at her, blinded by the California sun.

“Shit, I forgot. Everyone in this town knows about-” He stuttered, and then pushed on. “-About my mom.”

Stiles didn’t look at her, just kept talking. “I was ten, and she had dementia, and she thought I was killing her. If someone had told me stabbing some people would make it better, back then, I would’ve, so.” He waved a hand at her. “Dead Mom Club?”

Allison hummed, a high pitched sound, and then murmured, “Dead Mom Club.”

They stayed like that for a while, Stiles staring up at the cloudless sky, Allison sitting next to him.

“She knew what she was going to do, tried to talk to me beforehand. I was too worried about Lydia’s party.”

“Shit, Lydia’s party. That was a nightmare.”

Allison laughed. “Yeah. I don’t think the drugged up hallucinations helped, much.”

“No, they wouldn’t, would they?” Stiles snorted, and pushed up onto his elbows. “I think you got me beat, there, with the sad story shit. You just can’t beat werewolves and magic and lizard creatures, there’s no way I can compete with that.”

God, he hoped he never would be able to. He’d gone completely off the rails after Mom, him and Dad both, and he really didn’t want to find out what would happen if one of them died now, with added murder and mayhem and supernatural nightmare fuel. At least he hadn’t grown up an archery pro, right?

But that also meant he wouldn’t be able to fend stuff off from killing his friends, so Stiles figured it was a trade off. Instead, he just had to know absolutely everything about everything. He should probably be looking for more information on various potential victims, tweaking the spreadsheet, but he didn’t have his laptop, so.

So he just lay there, letting the sun warm his skin, idly watching Allison fidget with the knife.

Stiles managed another couple of minutes, and then the itchy antsy feeling became overwhelming.

“Okay, I can’t sit still, what the hell was I thinking. You can teach me how to knife someone up, right?”

“Yeah, she’s pretty good at that.” Isaac called from his stupid outdoor couch. Stiles made a face at him, and pushed himself to his feet.

“You can, though, right?” He said, offering Allison a hand.

Allison took it, rising gracefully, dusting off her leggings. “Sure. I’m not great at knives, and fighting- whatever that thing is- we’ll be better off with longer range weapons, but I can give it a shot.”

“How about a sword?” Stiles grinned, bouncing on his heels. “That’s like, longer than a knife.”

“I mean, yes? My dad has a couple somewhere, but what’re you going to do, carry a sword everywhere?”

“Sure! I’ll pretend it’s cosplay or something, nobody’ll suspect a thing.”

Allison laughed, running a hand through her hair, and then pulling it up into a tight ponytail. “Sure, Stiles. Why don’t we start with this, though?”

She offered the knife to him, handle first. It wasn’t even all that big, blade just a couple of inches longer than the handle part. Stiles knew fuck all about knives. He took it.

Derek let Lydia and Erica into his loft, not even bothering to check that there was nothing embarrassing laying about. He didn’t exactly have much stuff, but between Erica’s senses and Lydia’s… Lydianess, he was sure they’d find anything no matter how well he hid it. He’d only had the loft for about six months, bought it when winter hit and he got sick of hiding out in the woods, in the cold. The fact that he’d _bought_ it rather than rented it betrayed a tie to the land, him binding himself to holding the Beacon Hills territory, to a pack that wasn’t.

Derek didn’t like to think about that, just ushered Erica to sit on one of the couches he’d picked up from the side of the road. It didn’t smell too bad, and almost all of the blood soaked into its cushions was his own.

Erica wrinkled her nose but sat, wincing when she accidentally jostled her arm. Derek watched her, wondering if he should offer to take her pain away. If such an offer would even be welcomed.

“Derek, your kitchen is empty. This is a disgrace.” Lydia’s voice sounded, predictably, from the kitchen, and she sounded more exasperated than disdainful.

Derek sighed, and Erica just laughed. “At least he has a kitchen, instead of an old abandoned train car.”

“I wasn’t _living_ there.” He said, sourly. He hadn’t exactly been living _anywhere_ , really, apart from those few months he’d spent sharing a shitty place with Isaac, but that wasn’t the point. “It was just a good place for training.”

“I’m just surprised we didn’t get tetanus. Or bring the whole thing down, that was probably more likely.” Erica flexed the fingers of her injured arm, testing them, with barely a wince.

Derek gave in and sat down next to her, shoulders hunched. “We’re lucky I never tried to chain you to anything load-bearing.”

“Yeah?”

“Your first full moon. You just tore up the train car I chained you to.”

“Man, I really don’t remember that. Did I try to kill you?” She grinned, stretching out, catlike.

“You and Boyd. Isaac had to help me restrain you both. I should’ve expected it,” He paused, looking for the right words to say ‘you being all _you_ ’ without it coming out as an insult. He liked Erica, her stubbornness, ferocity, the way she seemed to view her body as a weapon much like Derek did his.

“What with me being such a bitch?” Erica raised her eyebrows at him.

“Not the way I’d have phrased it, but sure.”

Erica laughed, and there was a clatter from the kitchen. Great, Lydia was digging through his cupboards.

Derek mentally shook himself, and rose to peer at his bookshelf. There had to be something useful in there, even if most of his family’s reference books had gone down in the flames. He’d stopped Stiles from bringing his laptop with him to the Argent house, but that didn’t mean _Derek_ couldn’t get some research done.

“At least you taught us how to fight, though.” Erica said, tapping her foot on the floor. A small piece of glass plinked out from the tread of her boots, and the tiny sound almost startled Derek, for some reason. “You sure threw us around a lot, didn’t you?”

Derek closed his eyes. He’d been so _scared_ , back then, terrified that he’d lose what he shouldn’t have taken for himself, terrified that he’d ruined the poor kids’ lives by bringing them into his own. He was pitching closer and closer to that level of mind-crushing fear, thanks to this new monster.

“Yeah. I should’ve-” Derek didn’t even know what he was going to say, so he couldn’t be mad that he was interrupted.

“Should’ve told _me_ what was going on, instead of letting me very publicly lose my mind, yes.” Lydia stood in the doorway, arms folded.

And maybe then he wouldn't have thought she was the kanima, wouldn’t have planned to kill her. Which Derek was pretty sure she didn’t know about, but even then…

“Shut the fuck up, Lydia.” Erica groaned, tipping her head back on the couch to look at her. “You’re just pissed you didn’t get to be prom queen.”

“I spent three days naked in the woods and then was- possessed by _Peter Hale_ , thank you very much!”

“And yet, it’s the prom thing that stings more, isn’t it? Well,” Erica paused, grinning viciously. “More everyone in town seeing you losing your shit all over, but the prom thing too. But hey, the party was unforgettable, at least.”

“I lost _everything_ I spent my highschool career building, thanks to _someone’s_ creepy uncle.”

Derek winced. He was about to put a stop to things, yell out some kind of stupid command, when Erica retorted, “And so everyone figured out that _you aren’t perfect_. End of the world, that, people knowing you have flaws. Disaster, really.”

Lydia flinched. Derek had never seen that, not even that night during the Worm Moon.

“Stop.” He growled, stepping between them. Lydia opened her mouth, and he glared at her. “Both of you shut up. Erica, sit there and heal. Lydia, I want you checking over some translations I have. Are we done?”

Both of them scowled at him, but Derek just folded his arms, unmoving. The tension prickling through him confirmed one thing, at least- his wolf considered Lydia to be pack, at least enough that this was registering as infighting.

Lydia huffed and went to sit down at his cracked table, and Erica sighed and pulled out her phone.

“Not gonna break my arm as punishment, or something?” She muttered, not looking up.

Derek sagged a little on the spot. “No. Here, give me your hand.”

Erica looked wary, and Derek felt Lydia’s eyes on him, but she gave him her hand, and he shook his head. “The other one.”

Erica stared at him, but raised her hurt arm, and Derek took it, not hesitating before he started drawing out her pain. She let out a sharp intake of breath, and behind him, a chair scraped, Lydia rising from her seat, her heartbeat spiking.

“Holy shit, what?” Erica slurred her words slightly, blinking slowly at him.

“It takes practice,” He said, pushing through the waves of pain. They weren’t that bad, not that that would’ve stopped him. “But we can take others’ pain. Werewolves, animals, humans I’m not sure about, but probably.”

“That is really good to know.” Erica squinted at him, a mix of sarcasm and something more genuine.

Derek withdrew his hand, setting Erica’s arm back down. “Pretty sure Scott figured it out on animals at the clinic.”

Erica’s face shuttered minutely, which Derek didn’t fully understand, but she smiled anyway. “Fuckin’ McCall. Too sweet for such a bloodthirsty motherfucker.”

Derek snorted, running a hand over Erica’s shoulder on instinct, one he didn’t entirely understand or care to inspect all that deeply. He stood and returned to his bookshelf, running his fingers across the worn spines. He’d had all the ones he’d bought for college shipped down from New York, though he didn’t exactly know why. It wasn’t like he was going to go back and finish getting his degree.

He sighed, pulling out the half-translated half-completed bestiary he’d nabbed from Peter before he’d disappeared. It was the best he had, even with a bunch of pages torn out. Hopefully, Lydia could make something of it.

Allison kicked at Stiles’ foot, pulling on his arm. Stiles shifted his stance, flailing somewhat. “Like this?”

Allison sighed, a small smile on her face. “Close enough. It’s a balance of being sturdy enough to not get knocked over, but still mobile and able to jump away easily. Uh, maybe you’ll get it with practice?”

Stiles kind of doubted that, but hey, he’d eventually gotten okay at lacrosse, so maybe there was some small, tiny, miniscule hope?

“Okay, take this, and try to block me.” Allison handed him one of the nice, blunt baby knives that she’d run into the house to grab after Stiles had nearly sliced his own hand open on a real one. After a moment of consideration, she grabbed one for herself, checking that the sharp one was securely strapped to her hip. _Allison_ apparently trained with actual sharp blades. Allison was kinda terrifying, in a sweet way. Quietly, Stiles thought that was what had made her and Scott click so well.

Sweet, but _oh god oh fuck_ terrifying, and that was Allison lunging at him, and Stiles panicked and backpedaled. She caught him right before he landed on his ass, and Stiles could hear the distinct sound of Isaac laughing from behind him.

“Okay, maybe not like that.” Allison laughed, grinning. “Here, grab my arm, like this,” She slow-motion swung at him, using her grip on Stiles’ wrist to guide him into grabbing at her arm. Huh.

Stiles nodded, and then she let go of him, swinging again. Stiles swore he meant to do what she’d showed him, but that was a knife, and his brain was moving somewhat slowly, so he just flailed and skittered a step backwards with a strangled noise.

Allison raised an eyebrow at him, and Stiles shrugged expansively. He was a jumpy motherfucker, okay? Especially with gallons of coffee running through his veins.

“Might be better just to get him to duck, or back up in a way that doesn’t end up with him sprawled on his ass.” Isaac commented, sounding dryly amused.

“Yeah?” Allison asked, hesitant, her eyes flicking momentarily to her knife.

“Four years of lacrosse together, remember? You kinda sucked, Stilinski, but I don’t remember ever being able to _grab_ you.” Stiles looked behind him at Isaac, who was apparently now stood up and closer than before, probably to get a better view of Stiles getting his ass kicked. Honestly, Stiles couldn’t even blame him.

“Okay! Stiles, you up for that?”

“Uh, fuck, sure?” Stiles said, and then Allison was lunging forward, and Stiles moved without thinking, jerking backwards, curving his delicate, delicate stomach away from Allison’s knife. He opened his mouth to say something, what, he didn’t know, but Allison kept on moving, stepping closer and swinging a fist at his head.

Stiles yelped and ducked, trying to step backwards but getting tangled up in his own limbs and careening to the grass. Allison visibly considered him for a second, before dropping forwards, knife arm raised. He squeaked, pushing up and away, but then the knife was pressing against his ribcage.

“Ah, shit.” Stiles laughed, slumping against the grass. “You got me, I’m dead, oh no.”

Allison laughed. “Not yet. You could’ve fought out of this.”

Stiles blinked up at her. She had a knee on his thighs, a knife to his side, and a free hand to do whatever the fuck she wanted to him. “Sure I could. Yep. Definitely. That’s me, uh, knife houdini.”

Allison grinned and pushed herself upwards, rising all smooth and graceful-like.

“She was pretty lopsided like that,” Isaac commented. “Knock her sideways, press the advantage?”

She nodded, grin faltering somewhat, but not completely. “Especially if you were fighting a hunter. There isn’t as much training on pinning someone as there is on getting yourself unpinned, since, you know, werewolves.”

“Huh.” Isaac said, tilting his head.

“So could you like, fake falling over, use that to get the hunter close, and then-” Stiles stabbed his hand forwards, fingers held out like claws.

“Probably.” Allison shrugged. “In close range, werewolves typically have the advantage.”

“Unless you’re behind them?” Isaac asked, eyebrows raised.

Allison winced, and Stiles couldn’t help but do the same. Maybe violence and hunter stuff wasn’t the best conversation topic with Allison and, well, pretty much any of the werewolves. Maybe even Scott. Probably definitely Scott, even though Stiles was pretty sure he was the only one Allison hadn’t injured when she went all evil-vengeance.

“I-” Allison bit her tongue. “Yeah.” She set her shoulders, and shifted to look Isaac dead in the eye. “Though unless the hunter has a silvered weapon, you should be able to do more damage to them than they can do to you in the same amount of time. Let them stab you, then make them pay for it.”

Isaac nodded.

“But, for lovable human Stiles, the best bet is staying the fuck away from all dangerous motherfuckers, right? Duck and run, hit ‘em with a car?” Stiles blurted the words out, desperate to diffuse the situation. It wasn’t as awful as it could be, not even as bad as he kind of expected, but nope, talking about hunter violence was definitely a Forbidden Bad Topic.

Isaac snorted, and Stiles kept babbling. “Come on, teach me how not to fall on my ass. I promise it’ll be embarrassing as hell for me, and everyone likes laughing at idiots falling over, right? Oh god, just don’t film it, my fragile ego can’t cope with that.”

Allison smiled down at him, offering him her hand. “I think we can manage that. Yeah?” She shot a glance at Isaac, who nodded.

“Come on, Stilinski, let’s see you make a fool out of yourself a little more.”

The loft felt like an altogether different place with so many people in it. Not just because of the numbers, though, but because of the way laughter echoed off the exposed beams, the warm, familiar scents tangling together, the pizza boxes and muddy shoes and open books strewn everywhere. Derek thought he might be getting a glimpse at what his loft might look like if it was a _home_ , rather than just the place where he lived.

Derek leaned against the window, watching, listening. Scott was struggling against Derek’s shitty printer, a real battle for the ages, Lydia taking up an entire couch with her books and laptop and plate of veggie supreme pizza. Isaac and Erica were cackling over what Derek thought were maps and photos of potential victims, though he had no idea what they were laughing about and had no desire to find out.

Both Allison and Stiles were fidgety and antsy, although in different ways. Derek was beyond used to Stiles’ whirlwind process, the way he was always either lightning focused or flitting from task to task, but Allison was a different story. He wasn’t quite sure she was pack, but here she was, and here she’d been, offering her knowledge and skill and keeping her distance.

Derek couldn’t say that the distance wasn’t mutual, although he knew that was another strike against him as an alpha. He should be welcoming this valuable asset to the pack, offering her the steady footing that she seemed to be searching for, just- _stepping up_ in some way.

But she was an _Argent_. And yet Scott was still, clearly, in love with her. And she’d helped save him, save Erica, certain and sure, even as she hesitated- she’d clearly made up her mind on where she stood, and it wasn’t with her evil dead grandfather.

It wasn’t even the times she’d shot him that was the issue, either. She was an _Argent_ , and Kate, and Victoria, and.

And _Kate_.

Derek screwed his eyes shut, digging his claws into his palm. Kate was dead. His family was dead. Somewhere, the smallest, most precious part of himself whispered that his family might be growing again, forged from something disparate and disjointed into this, hushed whispers and bitten back laughter and a thrumming, cautious comfort.

He forced his eyes back open. This wouldn’t last, he knew that, so he might as well soak in it for as long as he could, and save the past for later.

“Derek, I give up, your printer’s evil,” Scott called, throwing his hands up and moving to sit beside Allison, stumbling on an empty pizza box on the way. Derek smiled.

“Let me see what I can do.” He ran a hand over Isaac’s head as he passed, catching Stiles as he whirled from his laptop to the wall, where he was pinning papers up and connecting them with strings. Derek bit back a snort, and Stiles just ducked around him, snatching at a box of pushpins.

The printer was likely actually evil, but Derek knew how to bully it into working. It just took a lot of doing, and a fair share of glaring. After several long, frustrating minutes, he got it working, at which point it started spewing out what looked like screencaps of horror movie monsters.

He offered the stack of them to Stiles with a raised eyebrow, which only went even higher when Stiles just wordlessly swapped the papers out for a greasy empty pizza box. Maybe it would make sense later? Or maybe never, since this was Stiles.

“Allison, can you stop the fucking _tapping_?” Erica snapped, eyes gleaming gold.

“Sorry!” Allison blinked, looking sheepish. “I think I’m just too worked up to be still.” She muttered, half-directed at Scott next to her, though they all heard her.

“Even after you threw Stiles around for a whole hour?” Isaac asked, eyebrows raised.

Erica snorted. “It’s not like _he’s_ slowed down either.”

“That’s the coffee, though.” Scott grinned, watching as Stiles leapt up from his seat to scrawl something on one of the papers tacked to Derek’s wall.

“Adrenaline.” Derek said. “You could go for a run, if you take two others with you. And bring your phone.” He turned away, picking up all the rest of the pizza wreckage, and headed into his little kitchen.

He didn’t know exactly what Isaac had meant about Allison throwing Stiles around, but all three of them had arrived at the loft looking well-exercised and loose, so odds were some form of sparring. Which, naturally, Stiles would lose handily at. Derek felt himself smiling, but tucked it away quickly.

Boyd was in the kitchen, seemingly switching between reading and doing Derek’s old dirty dishes. Whichever pack ended up getting to keep Boyd in the future would be lucky.

“Hey.” Boyd said, and Derek nodded, starting to collapse the pizza boxes down so that they’d fit in his recycling bin.

They worked in a peaceful silence for a moment, and then Boyd spoke again, his words knocking the wind out of Derek.

“This is what you wanted when you bit us, isn’t it?”

Derek froze, staring at him.

Boyd smiled, small, something in it that Derek couldn’t read.

“I don’t-” Derek started, cutting himself off when there was raucous noise from the main room.

“Kick his ass, Allison!” Erica yelled, laughter in her voice. Derek could hear their heartbeats, Scott’s and Allison’s higher than the rest. Just sparring. Good things.

“I wanted pack.” Derek said, hoping that that would be answer enough. He’d also wanted safety, strength in numbers, to make for himself a family that he still didn’t believe he deserved. It was simpler to just say pack. “I’m sorry I couldn’t-” He cut himself off with a sigh, turning instead to put away all the dishes and pans Lydia had pulled out of his cupboards.

Boyd didn’t say anything, just nodded. He didn’t own much stuff to actually put away, so Derek moved slowly, lingering.

He knew that his answer hadn’t quite been right, could tell from the way Boyd smelled, from the minute tension in his shoulders, but he had no idea what to do. No idea if he even _should_ do something. This all would eventually fall apart, one way or another, either through death or through distance.

Stiles stepped back and stared at his work in progress murderboard. He squinted. He should rearrange it somewhat, make the lines nicer, give himself more space. But that was definitely a low priority, when he still had a lot of work to do. He frowned and started pinning the ‘pictures’ of various potential monster culprits up, snorting at a few of them. He’d had to make do with some real B movie shit, but it’d work.

None of them looked anything like the monster they’d seen in the forest. There were similarities, bloated skin here, dark warped face there, sheer fear factor of another option, but nothing was lining up quite right.

Stiles fumbled behind him for more energy drink and collided with a wall of muscle. Thankfully, it was Derek, and not the thing he’d seen in one of the bestiaries that could only be described as a _literal_ wall of muscle.

“Oh fuck, why are you there?”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Checking on your progress.” Right. They needed answers, weaknesses, just a huge pile of raw information. Knowing what the hell was going on was the only way Stiles could keep everyone safe.

“Okay, uh, I think I’ve got some stuff? It’s still in the ‘throw it to the wall and see what sticks’ stage of things, but- I think we’ve got another victim, here, that name you recognised, Callie Hayes?”

Derek glanced at Stiles’ murderboard, in all its string and shitty cryptid photo glory. There was a crash and a whoop from behind him, and Stiles jumped, turning to look.

Allison had Scott pinned to the floor, Isaac glancing up and snorting at them both before returning to pouring over the gravesite map Stiles had shoved at him earlier. Huh. Nice.

“I didn’t know that stage involved literally sticking things to my walls.” Derek said, bringing Stiles’ attention back to him, away from the developing romance playing out on the floor. Man, Stiles was pretty sure Allison still had feelings for Scott. He tucked away a smile, making a note to rib Scott about it all later.

“What, have you never seen a murderboard before? Usually it’s more done by the murderers themselves, but something about shoes, fitting? It works, okay, bite me.”

Derek blinked at him, before curling back his lips to show wolfy fangs.

Stiles felt his heart jump, knowing Derek could hear it, and then burst out into laughter. “Okay, not literally, jesus. I’m good here, don’t need fur everywhere. The vacuuming alone must be terrible, no way.”

“My dad had a big fancy industrial one, meant for kennels.” Derek said, a ghost of a smile on his face. Then he was leaning past Stiles, squinting at one of his handwritten amendments. “What does this say?”

“Oh, that, that says- I have no idea.” Stiles waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll figure it out later. Or Scott can, he knows my shitty writing.”

Stiles caught Scott turning to flash him a thumbs up, only to have Allison leap on his back like some kind of spider monkey and send him crashing to the floor. Ah, puppy love.

Derek smirked at him, seeming quietly amused. He stepped away, and some of the many, many gears running in Stiles’ head clicked together for a moment.

“Wait, tell me about your werewolf early warning system. Is it just you? Just werewolves? Other supernatural uh, beings? Gimme deets.” Stiles made grabby hands, and then whirled away to snag his laptop, nearly sending paper careening everywhere until he managed to unplug the cable.

Derek’s eyebrows were reaching new heights, but he just folded his arms and crowded Stiles back into a chair. Which was probably smart, he wouldn’t be able to take notes or pull up more information that well if he only had one hand to type.

“It’s the pack bond.” Derek said, glancing over his shoulder. The others were all sufficiently distracted, and Derek continued. Shit, Derek keeping on talking without having to be prodded? Damn, you definitely could teach old wolves new tricks. Not that Derek was even _old_ in the slightest. Shit, he needed to focus.

“It’s stronger the closer the pack is. I don’t know if I can feel it better because I’m a born wolf, because I know what it feels like, or because I’m an alpha. Even then, all I got was pain, and sometimes I can pick up a general feeling of anger or happiness.”

Stiles nodded, fingers flying over keys. “But you don’t know who it’s coming from, right? It didn’t seem that way, at least.” Derek nodded.

None of the Cordova pack had ever mentioned it, but Stiles figured that made sense. They’d assumed Stiles was in a pack, and he hadn’t corrected them, hadn’t told them that they were barely a pack, just enough to keep the wolves from going omega.

“So, thresholds.” He said, glancing up at Derek. “Erica was pretty fucked up, and I think you’d be way more pissed than you usually are if you felt it every time I stubbed my toe.” Or the throbbing behind his eyes, the aching of his fingers, the tightness in his chest that never really left. None of it did, lately, had been a constant in Stiles’ life for upwards of a year, just fluctuating in severity. Come to think of it, it was probably pretty obvious, at least in the bags under his eyes, and that might be why his advisor had refused to let him take summer classes.

“Severe pain. Possibly less severe, too, I haven’t exactly tested it. It depends on-” Derek cut himself off. Stiles could fill in the blank, though. It must depend on how close the pack was, the tight links between them, the camaraderie, friendship, family.

“Yeah. We’re not exactly standard in a lot of ways, so my info is kinda-” Stiles seesawed his hand, fumbling around on the table with the other. “I need, fuck, where-”

Stiles glanced up at Derek. “I assume you don’t know about range, either, so uh, gold star on the information sharing, seriously, good job dude, keep that shit up, all the awards. I’m just gonna, uh.”

Stiles trailed off, lifting up papers and books and finally finding his pen. This was something more concrete to look into, something that wouldn’t take long that he’d be able to have actual answers for. Not the most helpful, but he remembered Derek liking getting results, so. He’d make results happen.

Derek watched Stiles sift through the total explosion of research materials that he’d created on Derek’s biggest table. He was muttering to himself, fragments of words and sentences that made absolutely no sense.

Damn, he couldn’t even stop himself from feeling all fond and soft. Derek was a mess. Stiles seemed to have some really valuable books on werewolf history and culture, which weren’t particularly useful in this case, but looked fascinating. Derek just hoped he hadn’t stolen them or something.

He should probably go check on everyone else, but for some reason Derek found himself stepping closer to Stiles’ ‘murderboard’, tilting his head as he tried to make sense of it.

If he followed the strings and the huge red arrows, pieces started to make sense, little clusters on each of the known victims and the name Derek had recognised from the list of potentials. He touched at one with a finger, delicately keeping the scrap of paper still so it was easier to read. Stiles was tapping away behind him, making little noises of frustration or excitement at whatever he was reading. Huh, apparently the name he’d recognised had likely been a werewolf, based off of sick days and what family links Stiles had been able to trace.

It was good work, thorough, and for a moment Derek could see his mother thanking Stiles, rubbing a hand over Stiles’ head and telling him he’d done a good job. He should probably be doing that, but it _hurt_ , a sting that he kept thinking was lessening only for it to return in full force.

Derek forced himself to step away, brushing out of the room and up the rickety spiral staircase, towards the two heartbeats upstairs.

He found Scott in the bathroom, apparently washing off some of the sweat from sparring with Allison, and, Derek suspected, taking a minute to breathe, giving her some space. He was doing well, and Derek couldn’t help the twinge of anger, of jealousy, at Scott’s repeated success in his romance with Allison, despite its star-crossedness.

Before he could say anything to Scott, though, Lydia was stepping in front of him.

“Scott.” She said, posture carefully perfect and disdainful.

“Uh…” Scott stammered, glancing between Lydia and Derek. Derek couldn’t help but shrug.

“You’re flirting with Allison, and I’m not going to stop you.” Lydia said, staring Scott dead in the eyes. “But-” she said, cutting off whatever Scott had been about to say. “If you break her heart, I will ruin your life. I don’t think I need to tell you that everything that happened hurt her, and if you do _anything_ like that again, I swear, McCall, I will make you regret _existing_.”

Scott clearly fumbled for words for a moment, before pulling himself together and narrowing his eyes. “Why are you doing this _now_?” Lydia didn’t move, still staring him down. “You didn’t seem to care about hurting Allison back when you kissed me that one time.”

“Lydia did _what_?” A yell came from downstairs, clearly Erica. Derek frowned.

At the edge of his hearing came a firm “Shut up,” from Boyd that sounded like it was backed up with a stern look.

Derek resisted the urge to put his face in his hands. Was this what hell was like? (It wasn’t, he knew hell, in and out, and he easily preferred this overdramatic soap opera shit.)

Lydia took a step forwards, having to tilt her head up to maintain her staredown. “If you must know, you can blame Jackson for that. Besides, I’m not talking about the _past_. Stop deflecting, and tell me you understand what the consequences will be if you fuck this up.”

Scott looked a mix between bewildered and scared. It was not an unfamiliar look on him.

“I, uh. Yeah, okay. Shit, you think I have a chance?” He grinned, immediately back to being made of sunshine and roses. Derek didn’t understand him, not in the least.

Lydia huffed out an exasperated breath. “I give up.” She said, turning away and tapping her fingers on Derek’s arm as she walked past. “You, come explain why the book you gave me is in such a state.”

Shit, it was definitely Laura that Lydia was reminding him of. Derek shared a look with Scott and followed Lydia back downstairs. He’d half wanted to go to the bathroom while he was up there, but, well, Derek didn’t have it in him right then to interfere with Lydia Martin on the warpath. He really was going soft.

“I don’t know anything about the book.” Derek said, taking a seat beside Lydia when she pointed at it.

“Of course.” She sighed. “What did I expect? There are several pages ripped out, and very little to go on as to what they were.”

“Sorry. It was… Peter’s.” Derek winced over his name, not looking at Lydia. She hummed, and he bit his tongue, forcing himself to be brave, to actually step up into the shoes of an alpha for once. “I’m sorry about what he did to you. Both times.”

Lydia hummed, turned a page in the book, and then sighed. “Of course you are.”

Derek forced down a scowl.

“Now, do you know what this word means?” Lydia brought his attention back to the book, pointing at a section of handwritten annotations. Well, he couldn’t exactly complain that she didn’t want to talk about it when he didn’t either.

“It’s about funerals. Our rituals for them.” He said, and Lydia hummed, reaching for a pencil, which Derek handed to her automatically. She started writing on a pad of paper, and Derek settled properly into his chair, knowing that he’d be there for a while.

The sun was long set, the rest of the pack having drifted off to sleep strewn across both of Derek’s couches, and Stiles was _pretty_ sure at least one person had claimed Derek’s bed. He almost looked around to check, to see who was unaccounted for, but then Derek was making a frustrated noise and grabbing for Stiles’ laptop.

“Just- look, okay, the original definition of the word nightmare meant sleep paralysis, it’s just- clearly in the history!” Derek said, stabbing at the keys and pulling up wikipedia. Stiles squinted at the screen, and Derek made some sort of ‘duh, look at that’ type of gesture, and Stiles had never seen him do anything like it and he fucking loved it.

“Yeah, but etymology’s a trip, man. Plus!” He grinned, reading further. “Plus that’s from when everyone got all prescriptivist and weird, so you don’t even know that-”

“Oh my god.” Derek cut him off, half dropping the laptop on the table with how fervently he threw his hands out in exasperation. “That doesn’t mean you can throw the hag out with the bathwater-”

Stiles stared at him, and snorted. “That one got away from you a little, huh big guy?”

Derek scowled, shoving at Stiles’ shoulder. “Whatever. _The point is_ , night hags have been repeatedly and thoroughly explained as sleep paralysis, which is _actually real_.”

“Yeah, but is it, though?” Stiles asked, just to see Derek’s face twist up in anger. He preempted Derek yelling at him and probably chokeslamming him into a mountain of research papers and sleep studies by throwing his hands up, flicking his fingers into Derek’s arm. “Okay, yes, but that doesn’t mean _every case_ is sleep paralysis, or whatever- you can’t just science a phenomenon out of existence!”

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice was flat, though he was pretty sure there was a hint of amusement underneath it. Okay, more than a hint. “That’s what science is for. To explain the previously unexplainable. What are you… _Stiles_.”

“Okay, but it’s across so many cultures, and the descriptions are all _way_ too weirdly consistent, like, why does everyone in the pre-industrial world see a weird old lady as their sleep paralysis demon? Fuckin’ explain that, science boy!” Stiles was uh, maybe a lot in Derek’s face when he practically yelled that last part, but it was fine.

Because Derek was just as close to him and just as caught up in the stupid argument. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever even _implied_ I’m good at science. I’m a failed _history_ student, Stiles, what the hell.”

Stiles burst out into laughter, curling over and propping himself up on Derek to stay upright.

Derek actually snorted, and then pressed on, jabbing Stiles in the side with his fingers. “ _And_ semi-consistent legends don’t prove shit, asshole. You could say that about aliens, or lizard people, or-”

Stiles was going to fucking die from laughter. “Or-” He choked out, straining for breath. “Or _werewolves_!”

Oh god, he couldn’t fucking _breathe_ , and then Derek was burying his face in his hands and oh man, that was genuine laughter, blooming up into something as hysterical as Stiles’. Stiles panted for breath, gripping Derek’s arm, bashing his forehead on his shoulder a few times.

“Stiles.” Derek said, clearly trying to sound firm and serious and broody, despite the waves of laughter rolling through him and turning his face pink. “Werewolves aren’t real.”

And that was fucking _it_ , Stiles was going to die on the spot from laughter. “Oh god,” he breathed, tipping over with the force of it, and Derek was tumbling down to the floor with him, whether from Stiles pulling him or Derek trying to save him, he had no idea.

They collapsed together, shaking with laughter, and just when it seemed like Derek might be calming down, Stiles managed to force out, in a mock-deep voice, the words “Werewolves aren’t real” and they were off to the races again.

Derek’s eyes were gleaming, his whole face changed by the laughter, the wide, easy grin he was wearing, and he was flushed pink almost as badly as Stiles knew he must be himself. “Fuckin write that shit on my grave,” Stiles wheezed, dropping his head to rest against Derek’s shoulder, “Stiles Stilinski, killed instantly by the non-existance of werewolves.”

Derek’s shoulders shook under Stiles. “If you’re good, I’ll add ‘signed by your friendly neighbourhood werewolf’ to the end, even if I have to break out the spray paint.”

Stiles grinned, tilting his head so he could see Derek’s face out of one eye, but not stopping leaning on him. What, it was comfortable! And warm! And, uh, shut up!

“Shit, I might have to actually be good for once in my life, instead of acting innocent in the face of obvious chaos and mischief.”

Derek grinned, looking down at Stiles. “Yeah right, that’ll never happen.”

Stiles couldn’t help but grin back like a loon. “Yeah, you got me there.”

“I was about to say that you must’ve done what you were told _once_ in your life, but then I remembered who you are.”

Damn, if Stiles didn’t know better, he’d say that Derek looked fond and only somewhat exasperated. What he _did_ know, though, was that a laughing fit looked fucking good on him.

“Damn right.” Stiles’ face was hurting from all the smiling he was doing. He should probably move off of Derek, or at least shift his elbow so it wasn’t stabbing into him. On second thought, he decided that Derek had totally brought whatever this was on himself somehow, so he could just sit and suffer.

Derek shifted slightly, moving his fingers gently along the knobs of Stiles’ spine. Slowly, Stiles’ breathing got back to a normal rhythm, taking noticeably longer than Derek’s did. Damn werewolves. He snorted, shaking his head minutely.

“Okay.” He finally said, “I should get back to real research.”

Derek frowned, and damn, Stiles had forgotten about the weird wolfy lie-detector. It hadn’t been a _lie_ , exactly, because he absolutely should get back to work, but Derek had probably picked up on something.

“It’s well past midnight, and we’ve got more to do tomorrow.”

Huh, maybe Derek _hadn’t_ picked up on something from Stiles’ heartbeat or whatever.

“Yeah, but like, I’m no stranger to an allnighter with important shit to do the morning after, dude.” It was, in fact, pretty much a constant fact of his life. By choice, by design, because of who he was and how he couldn’t let things go. Maybe he should get at least a little bit of sleep, because his thought process was starting to swing morbid a little too rapidly.

“Sure,” Derek said, resting his chin on the top of Stiles’ head. “But neither you nor I slept much last night, and there’s no way you can convince me that you weren’t already running on a sleep deficit before then.”

Stiles sighed, shifting his focus to the way Derek felt pressed up next to him, to how Derek had even _initiated_ some of the touch. That was a much nicer thing to think about. More complicated, probably, but _nicer_.

“Yeah, but like, there’s an awful gross monster stalking the woods. And I’ve barely narrowed down what it could be from like, a list of hundreds. A lot of which were just removing duplicate versions of skinwalkers. So many skinwalkers.”

“Yeah,” Derek allowed, and Stiles found himself suddenly hyper aware of Derek’s breathing, steady and deep. “But everyone’s here, in one place, and we’re safe. At least in numbers if not anything else.”

Stiles forced in a shaky breath.

“And I know your dad’s at work, but he’s not out on patrol, he’s in the office, with a bunch of other people. It seems to be focusing on supernatural creatures, now even if not at first, so he’s not a target. Nothing will change overnight.”

Stiles pushed back to look at Derek, but didn’t separate away from him completely. “How do you know that that’s what I’m worried about? That I’m worried, and not just, I don’t know, diligent? Like, I _could_ be!”

Derek smiled, a wry little thing. “I know hypervigilance, know what it looks like when someone’s burying themselves in work.” Stiles made a small, inquiring noise, and Derek explained, “Laura. She threw everything into college and work and all that. Took me a while to understand, you know?”

Stiles nodded, dropping back to lean on Derek again. “Yeah. Dad worked a lot, after Mom, and I thought…” He sighed, and then forced himself to continue. “You know, he was doing fine, moving on, all that.”

Stiles tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Okay, yeah, sleep. If I’m tired enough to be talking about- yeah. Sleep.”

Derek nodded, and started in on the process of extracting himself from Stiles and standing up. “Come on, I’ve got some spare blankets and pillows that the others won’t have found.”

Stiles pushed himself to his feet, forcing a smile. “You sure they won’t have sniffed them out with their special little super-sniffers?”

Derek squinted at him, and then rolled his eyes. “No. They just smell like clean laundry. Come on.”

Derek led him to a small cupboard next to the kitchen, which did in fact have a couple of neatly folded stacks of blankets, and two pillows. A quick glance around the room revealed that it was likely Erica and Lydia, or at least _one_ of them, who’d stolen Derek’s bed, and that it was going to have to be the floor. He’d had worse.

Stiles took his bundle to a clear space under the massive windows, close to his laptop, piles of notes, and murderboard in progress, and couldn’t hold back his smile when Derek joined him.

“You don’t have to wait until you’re tired to talk about it, you know.” Derek said, voice soft and quiet in the now-dark room, once they were both lying down on the hard floor.

Stiles considered pretending he didn’t know what Derek was talking about, but the nearly full moon lit up how fucking _soft_ and _gentle_ Derek looked, fluffy reindeer print blanket pulled up to his chest, watching Stiles with steady eyes.

He took a breath, pulling himself together. “Yeah. Same goes for you, you know, you don’t have to be all silent and broody all the time.”

They were probably lying too close together, as close as they’d be if they were on an actual bed together. Stiles had no idea what it was that he was feeling.

“Yeah,” Derek said, barely more than a whisper. “Work in progress, though, you know?”

Stiles huffed out a breath, unable to do anything more than watch Derek watch him back. “Yeah, I do.”

He didn’t remember closing his eyes, or turning away, or even falling asleep, really, just the open, vulnerable way Derek looked, head on a lumpy spare pillow, lit up by moonlight.

The morning was for pancakes and bleary eyes, but Derek forced himself to action, half-considering going for a run just to get his engine going. But no, going out into the woods alone was a provably bad idea, so he just pushed through it, glaring at his plate of toast while the pack bickered around him, working out who would be paired up with who for the day.

He pitched in with a reminder that he needed at least one other person to come steal records with, and then ambled over to the research pile. He was _pretty_ sure at least a draft version of the list of potential victims was in there somewhere. And looking for it was much preferable to his sluggish brain than mediating an argument about- kinds of cereal? Kids shows? Derek had no idea.

In the end, Derek and Isaac were the ones who went out to the Sheriff’s station, Erica going with Lydia to the library, and then Boyd with Allison, in what he was pretty sure was a move to avoid any awkwardness of Allison being paired with Scott. Derek internally sighed. He’d thought they were moving closer to sorting their shit out, one way or another, but what did he know?

They didn’t talk much on the drive over, Isaac asking questions about the new burger place in town, and Derek answering simply. Isaac seemed happy to keep him at arms length, and it was definitely for the best that he did.

“So.” Derek said, turning down the road that led to the station. “I’ll distract the receptionist, you get the files.”

“I’m pretty sure _one_ of us is gonna get recognised from all the fugitive stuff, and I’m betting on you. Let me distract?” There was a challenge in the tilt of Isaac’s head, but somehow Derek could tell it wasn’t an attack, just a push. Shit, maybe therapy really was helping more than he’d thought.

“Most of the staff quit working there, after Dahler.” Derek shrugged, not saying the ‘or was killed by him’ part aloud. “Also, we were both cleared of all charges.”

“Yeah, sure. That just makes it better if I flirt with the receptionist, though, since you can’t even lean on the bad boy ex-fugitive thing.” Isaac smirked, settling back into his seat.

Derek scowled. “College gave you too much confidence.”

“That, and getting away from my abusive asshole of a dad, sure.”

Derek shot him a look, pulling in to park at a furniture store just down the street from the station.

Isaac raised his eyebrows at him.

Ugh. “Fine. I’ll get the files. Cough if I need to get out of there, I’ll hear you.” Derek unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car, shutting the door before Isaac could say anything else.

Isaac caught up and then kept pace with him all the way to the doors of the station, where Derek pressed a hand to his back and nudged him in, staying out of view himself.

He listened as Isaac went in, and couldn’t help but frown in confusion when he said, all cheery sounding, “Oh, hey! Reya!”

Derek tensed, but it seemed like however Isaac knew her, it wasn’t in a negative way that was going to get him hurt, so he waited until she sounded suitably distracted, and then snuck in.

The place looked somewhat different to how it had last time Derek’d been here, the walls repainted, different posters and framed pictures, but it was just as easy to duck in, hiding low behind desks and slinking into the records room, catching the door before it locked. Nice and easy.

He pulled out the list of what he needed to nab, grateful that he’d made Scott (okay, that Scott had offered to) transcribe Stiles’ scrawl. Okay, start off with pulling investigation records, then autopsies and closed cases, then the rest of it.

Derek pulled out his phone, wishing there was some way that he could’ve used a scanner instead of his phone camera, but it was good enough quality, more or less. It just kind of stung, for some reason. God, maybe he actually was secretly a pretentious dweeb.

He kept half his focus on listening to Isaac’s conversation, even as he rifled through shitty file organisation. They’d totally know if he sorted it out, put things in their proper places, and yeah, he was a fucking loser, through and through.

The receptionist had apparently worked at a cafe or something that Isaac had frequented, both before college and during breaks, and Derek was absolutely certain that they’d hooked up and that she wanted to do so again.

Derek took another series of photos of the spread of documents, and forced himself to be genuinely glad that Isaac was meeting and bonding with people outside his makeshift pack. It was a good thing. He knew this. He’d been over it, again and again, didn’t need to loop back around to it one more time for good measure.

He forced himself to focus, to move faster, tuning out the actual words Isaac was saying and focusing on the tone, listening for a signal that he needed to run. The station itself was quiet, almost empty, as was probably to be expected for an early Tuesday morning.

After a _lot_ of paper shuffling and fighting with aged file cabinets, Derek had finally gotten everything that was on his list. He took a minute to scan the room, making sure everything was back in place, the same exact type of chaos it’d been when he’d gotten there, and then nodded slightly to himself.

He slunk out of the room after checking that there were no nearby heartbeats, and then out the back door of the station, not daring to risk the receptionist- Reya- seeing him leaving and asking questions.

Which just left getting Isaac out, and that was solved by a simple text, so Derek just went to lean against the Camaro and wait.

Isaac flashed Derek a lazy grin when he came out of the station, his hands tucked into his pockets. He looked happy, but as he got closer, it didn’t quite reach his scent.

“You get her number?” Derek asked, as he started the car and checked his mirrors before heading out.

Isaac laughed. “Already had it.”

Derek inclined his head, the barest nod. “You gonna see her, then, once this is all over?”

Isaac’s heartbeat jumped, and he withdrew slightly, folding in from the lax, open, self-assured posture he’d been sporting a second ago.

“No. It’s not a good idea.”

Derek gritted his teeth, but managed to say, “You can still date. With the werewolf stuff. You’ve got good enough control.” And he’d be running a background check on her the second he got a chance, and honestly, he might even think about asking Allison if _she_ knew anything, if Isaac saw her again.

“Sure, but I don’t date. Actual relationships aren’t- nah, I’m good. Don’t do too well with people.” Isaac shrugged, looking out the window as if that would hide how clearly uncomfortable he was, looking almost lonely in the reflection.

Derek felt like he should say something more, have something helpful or comforting to say to Isaac, but he came up dry. He didn’t precisely know why Isaac was so edgy, but it wasn’t exactly like _Derek_ had any sort of track record with relationships or feelings or even meaningless sex. It was probably a bit of a shambles that his betas were more, uh, worldly, or at least more put together, than Derek was, but what the fuck was he supposed to do about that?

So he just drove in silence, thumbs tapping on the steering wheel, and hoped that he wasn’t somehow screwing everything up.

Scott was sprawled out on Stiles’ bed, hanging off it just enough to kick at Stiles’ chair with one of his feet. Stiles idly flipped him off, eyes never leaving the dense as hell article he was reading on Scandinavian depictions of the black death. There’d been some notes about the deceased having unexplained diseases in the autopsy reports Derek had emailed him, which had led to just a _really fun_ and _not at all gross_ research hole.

“ _Dude!_ ” Scott said, punctuated by a particularly forceful kick. Stiles sighed, and tipped his head back to look at Scott.

“Yeah, Scotty?”

“Do you think Allison still likes me?” Scott lifted his head from Stiles’ bedspread to look at him all forlornly.

“How long did she spend pinning you to the floor yesterday, while the rest of us were doing actual work?”

Scott grinned, tossing a tennis ball up in the air and catching it. “A while.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and shrugged. “She might. What do _I_ know, dude?”

He made to turn back to his borderline _mind numbing_ research, but Scott kicked his chair again.

“You were with her for _hours_ yesterday, did she say anything?”

“There were words said.” Stiles bit back a grin.

“ _Stiles_!” Scott whined, pushing up off the bed to sit on the floor and give him the puppy eyes. Shit.

“Yeah, yeah, put those away before you kill me. Fine, we talked, but not about you. Other things.” Stiles waved a hand, and Scott gave him an imploring look. “I don’t know, dude. I think she still might need time, but she seems less fucked up angry, which tracks.”

“I’m gonna ask her to get coffee with me.” Scott beamed, eyes going momentarily distant.

“Yeah, buddy.” Stiles shook his head, and made to turn back around.

Scott caught his arm, though, keeping him from getting back to reading.

“How’re you doing, you know, with all the-” Scott waved a hand.

“What, evil monster shit? Terrified out of my mind, dude, that thing was gross as hell.”

“No, idiot.” Scott thwacked him on the arm. Thankfully, he seemed to have figured out how to moderate his super-werewolf strength. “You know, getting the gang all together. Pack. _That_.”

Stiles groaned and buried his face in his hands. God, he hated it when Scott _knew_ things almost more than when he was oblivious to anything but Allison.

“It’s fine.” He tried, weakly, and Scott smacked him again. “Ugh, god, dude, I don’t know what you want me to say. It sucks and everyone’s an asshole and-”

And it was everything, _everything_ that Stiles wanted.

Scott peeled Stiles’ hands away from his face. “Yeah, I know.” He was all gentle and knowing and Stiles _hated_ him. Worst best friend ever.

“I‘m firing you as my best friend.” Stiles mumbled, narrowing his eyes at Scott. He didn’t even _try_ to get his hands back so he could bury his head in them again. That was a fight he’d lost, over and over again, even before all the werewolf shit.

“Sure you are.” Scott grinned, foot tapping on the wheels of Stiles’ chair. “Not like it’s a lifetime position and we imprinted on each other like baby geese, or anything.”

“It’s baby ducks.” Stiles groused, pouting.

Scott just smiled wider. Stiles had no idea if he’d said geese on purpose. He _hated_ Scott.

Stiles sighed. “Just gotta wait ‘till the end of summer, then everyone’s gonna go off and never talk again and it’s gonna be fine.”

Scott matched Stiles’ sigh, and then tipped up to his knees to give Stiles a hug. _Hated_. “Hey, I’ll make sure to like, actually keep in touch this time, yeah?”

Stiles squeezed Scott back, thunking his head against his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“You think you got enough distance? I missed you, dude.” Scott’s voice almost shook at the end, and Stiles squeezed him tighter.

“It wasn’t… it never was really about the distance.”

Scott pulled back, and Stiles let him go, staring at his hands. “But you said, at prom-”

“I know what I said, Scott. I was afraid.” Stiles sighed, and Scott offered him a reassuring smile. “God, don’t make me fucking say it- everything with the pack, with being able to _tie_ myself to people in some magic werewolf way-”

“Ah, shit, is this like when you decided in fourth grade that I was only your friend out of pity so you should let me be free, or whatever?”

Stiles groaned and put his head in his hands. “Yes.”

Scott laughed, and pulled him back into a hug, which Stiles fell into gratefully. “You wanna get werewolf married?”

“I hate you.” But Stiles was laughing, and Scott was too, and it loosened the pit in his chest, the unspoken promise that Stiles wouldn’t lose him, that Scott wanted to be there, too.

After a minute, they separated with only a modicum of awkwardness, and Stiles nodded decisively.

“Okay, you gonna let me get back to reading about the plague now? You can talk about Allison while I read, I promise I might take in _some_ of the words, even.”

Scott snorted, getting up off the floor and squinting at Stiles’ laptop in bafflement. “I have no idea what you’re doing, just don’t give me the black death, yeah dude?”

Stiles waved a hand, grinning, and forced his attention back to the article. He’d actually finished the thing, moved on to weird modern greek legends, by the time his phone chimed, in concert with Scott’s.

“It’s Derek.” Scott said, and Stiles could hear the way he was wrinkling his nose. “He’s ‘checking in’, ugh. Should I tell him you’ve fallen in the tub and drowned?”

Stiles laughed, but when he checked his phone, he saw that Scott had already messaged their group chat with an all-clear, and as he watched, Erica added one for her and Lydia.

“Or I could say you blew up the microwave,” Scott considered, and Stiles couldn’t help but flip him off. That had been _one time_ , okay? And several near misses. That showed no sign of stopping. Fuck.

“Which do you think he’d get here quicker for? Gotta be the explosions, right, me naked and drowned is a little different to the pool thing. God, there really isn’t space in the bathroom for a drowning incident, water would get everywhere.” Stiles rested his chin on his hand, staring at the posters still up on his walls.

“Uh.” Scott said, eloquently.

“What?”

“Your brain is a weird place, man.” Scott shrugged, his face doing something weird.

“Thanks for the update on that one, dude.”

Scott just shrugged. “Whatever. At least Derek’s being less of a commanding asshole about things, I guess.”

“Yeah, you two don’t seem to be trying to kill each other nearly as often as I’d expect, now that I think of it.” Stiles grinned. Okay, he didn’t like seeing either of them hurt, but watching them throw each other uselessly through walls and windows and random innocent objects was almost fun.

“Yeah. I still kind of want to maul him a bit though, sometimes. You know,” Scott made his hands into a mockery of werewolf claws, apparently forgetting that he did, in fact, _actually have werewolf claws_.

“Yeah, but like, I want to do that to people who talk in the library, so. I don’t know what I’m saying, dude, fuck.” Stiles rubbed his eyes, blinking slowly to get them to focus again.

“I can see if Mom will make us boy scout badges for restraining our violent tendencies!” Scott grinned, slouching down in Stiles’ bed.

“Oh god, I’m such a bad influence on you, Scott, you used to be a _pacifist_.”

“Yeah, I used to be a human too. Come on, I’m making you get some sleep.” Scott rolled his eyes when Stiles started to protest, adding, “Yeah, I know, one more hour. I’ll set an alarm, don’t think I won’t.”

On the day of the full moon, after everyone had met up again to sort out who was going where and doing what, Derek made sure that Erica and Boyd would linger as everyone dispersed. He’d apparently been supremely obvious, because Erica’s posture was hostile, Boyd’s closed off.

Derek sighed, trying to pull words together in his head. Fuck, he didn’t know what he was doing. How the hell was he supposed to run a pack? Like, he _hadn’t_ , and _wasn’t_ , but it was what he was technically supposed to do, and every single thing he came up with to say as an opener was just awful.

After a moment, Erica loudly sighed. “Why are we still here, huh?”

Derek flinched. And then he forced himself to relax, to give up. He wanted to be defensive, to soften the question somehow, but he just- had no clue how.

“Yeah.” He said, staring at the floor of the loft, the mud that everyone’s shoes had tracked in. “I know you tried to leave, so.”

Erica sighed, and when he risked a glance up, both her and Boyd were still stiff, arms folded, keeping their distance.

“You can-” He took a breath, steadying himself. “Come on, sit.”

“Dog jokes, Derek?” Erica rolled her eyes, but perched on the edge of the couch, Boyd leaning against a table.

Derek narrowed his eyes at her. “No.”

They sat like that for a _painfully_ long time, watching each other, seemingly ready to spring. Derek certainly was, at least, but he managed to not give in to the urge to bolt out of the room. He’d started this, he’d wanted this. He’d bitten them.

“God, you’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” Erica snapped, finally, and Derek’s eyes flicked to her.

“What? I-” Derek cut himself off, turning away and scowling at himself.

“Fucking hell.” Erica muttered, and then, in a tense, clipped voice, “Shit, Derek, what other pack’s gonna want- well, _me_. I’m not exactly a catch, or a loyal follower, or whatever. This _pack_ or whatever is a total fucking mess, don’t get me wrong, Derek, this sucks. This fucking _sucks_ , but I ain’t got any better options, so.”

Derek just stared at her. What?

“Yeah,” Boyd said, tearing Derek’s attention away from Erica. “Dude, I’m working retail and hoping I can get into community college, because I spent the end of Senior year getting kidnapped by crazy people.”

Derek clenched his hands into fists, forcing his claws to stay in, knowing that they’d be able to smell the blood if he let them bite into his hands.

“You should leave. Any pack would be lucky to have you.”

The words tasted rancid in his mouth, but they were _true_ , and _honest_ , and something he needed to tell them. He’d dragged them down into his shit, and he needed to make sure they found the way out.

Getting them _out_ , getting them _safe_ was his first priority, and everything else had to fall to the wayside. That was one thing he knew for certain about being an alpha- he had to put the wellbeing of his betas above everything else, above how much he wanted to keep them, above the stupid desire for family, all of it.

“Yeah?” Erica scowled.

Derek just shrugged.

“Whatever.” Erica rolled her eyes, almost as dismissive as Lydia could be. And then, after a beat, she kept talking, more hesitant this time. “Does _any pack_ include yours?”

Derek’s breath caught in his chest, twisting and stabbing straight for his gut. It did, it did _so much_ that he couldn’t help but howl with it sometimes, go up to the mountains on the edge of the territory and pretend that he could see far enough to see where his pack was, far away and broken and _leaving_ him.

His shoulders were shaking, and he forced them still, locking his muscles down in the hopes that they wouldn’t betray anything more. God, he _wanted_.

It was this big, all-consuming thing, and he couldn’t look at it, couldn’t touch it, couldn’t _think_ about or around it.

Erica, all the ways she reminded him of Laura, of _Cora_ , with the stubbornness and the fire and the endless pushing him, and the ways she didn’t, the undertones of viciousness that crept into her words, the way she almost unconciously checked for direction when she was uncertain, the way she let the ‘dumb hot chick’ facade fade, from time to time.

Boyd, painfully perceptive, sturdy as any anchor Derek had ever known, the get up and go _drive_ , the way he seemed to be able to turn himself into both the rock and the hard place, and the gentle, distant amusement, the fondness, that only sometimes glinted through, that Derek wanted nothing more than to help flourish.

And Isaac, and the way he leaned into every touch, his annoying habits, the way no situation was too serious for sarcasm, and the way he and Derek had learned to move around each other in the brief time they’d lived together despite neither of them being ready for cohabitation. And Scott, the headstrong heartstrong fury that somehow always managed to raise Derek’s hackles, always able to come up with ways to get what he wanted, finding a third option in every shitty choice. And Lydia, smart and terrified and brilliant, clearly wanting to appear above it all but quietly watching, learning, grasping for more. Allison, even, through all the distance and the edginess, quick-thinking, proving herself reliable in crunch time.

And Stiles, closing himself off with streams of jokes and useless information, who’d clearly spent way too much time searching for information to keep people safe, who, judging by the resources he’d gained, was probably not far away from leaving to become an outstanding emissary to another pack.

And Derek _yearned_ , ached for it, lost himself in the shift to it, and he couldn’t have it, couldn’t have _any_ of them, because wanting things only led to ruin. He was like a dog who couldn’t help but chew up his favourite toys, tearing things to shreds in what he thought was love. Toxic, rotten, ruining their lives because he’d thought he could _take_ them, make them part of his life, as if that wouldn’t destroy everything. As if his life was something worth being part of.

Erica snarled, scent sour and wrong. Derek blinked at her, trying to get his brain into gear.

“Sure.” She snapped, adjusting her leather jacket, pulling it tighter around herself. “Whatever. I’ll see you later, _alpha_. Good talk.” Her claws were out, something that he only absently noticed when she flipped him off as she left.

Derek stared after her, barely managing not to jump when she slammed his front door behind her.

Boyd huffed out a breath. “Shit, man. You just can’t stop fucking things up, can you?”

Derek snapped his head to look at him.

“Yeah.” Boyd said, dry and darkly amused. “You know why I agreed to take the bite?” He paused, but didn’t wait for Derek to answer, which was good, because Derek didn’t know what to fucking say. “Simplest thing ever. I just didn’t want to be alone all the time. And you failed at that. The _lowest_ bar.”

Boyd shook his head, uncrossing his arms into a shrug. “I’m gonna go catch up with Erica.”

Derek forced himself to nod, holding himself stiffly in place until he heard the door shut, and then for several minutes after that, too. He stared out the window, eyes unseeing. He had a few hours, and there was research to be done, and he couldn’t bring himself to move. The lowest bar.

Stiles hefted his backpack higher up, narrowing his eyes at the woods. Sure, spending the full moon out by the corpse of the Hale House meant that nobody’s actual current home would get destroyed by the inevitable werewolf brawls, but it was also creepy as fuck. Like, it was bad enough in the daytime, let alone just after sunset. Scott and the rest of the wolves had raced ahead once the road had petered out, which had left Stiles to park and then trek the rest of the way.

Okay, it wasn’t far at all, and he’d done worse, but Stiles wouldn’t be himself if he wasn’t at least somewhat overexaggeratedly whiny in his own head. _Outside_ his head everything had to have a touch of irony, or sarcasm, or some other way to pass off anything he said as a joke, not serious, stop looking at him like that.

You know, normal stuff.

Still, he was pretty sure there would be food, and marshmallows, and a campfire, so all in all, far from the worst night he’d had recently.

He stepped into the clearing that surrounded the burnt out house, and couldn’t help but smile at what he saw. Derek must’ve recruited help, because the campfire was large, and as Stiles drew closer, the ground around it had been swept free of sticks and leaves and other detritus for a pretty considerable radius.

Around the fire, the pack was sprawled out on the dirt, Lydia having set up a camp chair, the rest of them seeming to have accepted that they’d finish the night in varying degrees of filthy. Stiles dropped his backpack next to Lydia’s chair, hoping that that way it wouldn’t get stepped on.

“Hey guys!” He called, wondering if he should clap his hands to get their attention, or if that would be too much. Okay, no, there was no such thing as too much. “This is my bag, it's got a lot of valuable stuff in there, and if you step on it I’ll run you over and make you pay for the mechanic bills.”

“Good luck with that,” Isaac huffed, and then returned his attention to Lydia. “So, what? I should take Bradford’s class instead of Sloan’s?”

Stiles settled down in the dirt with a tilt of his head, and Lydia scoffed. “No. Not unless you’re actually good at physics, which, if I remember high school at _all_ , isn’t true.” At Stiles’ snort, she added, “You too, Stilinski.”

“Hey!” Stiles said, grinning. “I kept Scott alive and passing all his classes, that should’ve earned me an A in physics all by itself.”

“I turned into a werewolf and was accused of my father’s murder.” Isaac deadpanned.

“And were on the run! Don’t forget that one. My dad would be pissed if he knew how many fugitives I hung around with.”

Isaac made a face at him, which Stiles echoed back.

“If you’re done rehashing high school,” Lydia said, imperiously. “I was just saying that Sloan is incredibly dull, but if you can manage to pay attention she’s probably your best bet at getting that requirement done.”

“Ugh.” Isaac grumbled, glaring at the fire. “Well, thanks, I guess. For dooming me to boredom.”

“You’re welcome.” Lydia smiled, acid sharp. “Stiles, what’s the maximum amount of time UC Irvine lets you take books out for?”

Stiles blinked. “Uh, shit, I don’t know. I’ve gone over it a few times, but like, never paid any attention. The fines are just kind of a random encounter that I gotta deal with.”

Scott sat down next to him as he spoke, and handed Stiles a drink, which he took happily.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Somehow I think I should’ve expected that. So, if I wanted something from their library, I could count on you to send it to me?”

“Oh, uh, sure? Like, I’m pretty sure there are ways to request books, or I could scan them in for you, I’ve got a pretty solid collection of, uh. _Folklore_.” Stiles waggled his eyebrows, and Scott shoved his shoulder.

“Dude, does that mean werewolves or is it a weird way of saying porn?” Scott laughed, taking a swig of his drink, staying pressed close to Stiles.

“Could be werewolf porn.” Isaac said, helpfully.

“I can look.” Scott leaned in and grinned evilly. “You moved your stash, right? But I bet I can still find it.”

“You guys suck.” Stiles pouted, crossing his arms. “I’m gonna go-” He looked around. Erica was spearing marshmallows on sticks and setting them on fire, waving the results at Boyd while Derek watched from a distance. He winced. “Gonna go talk to Erica, I guess. Shit.”

He was saved from having to get up in order to get accosted with fire, though, because Erica’s head flicked up when he said her name, and then she was stalking over, putting an added sway into her step.

She shoved a marshmallow right in Stiles’ face, forcing it into his mouth, and then smiled. “Hey. Food’s nearly ready, what’re you idiots talking about?”

“Werewolf porn.” Lydia stared up at Erica, eyes glinting, face pulled into a smirk.

“Uh huh?” Erica said, flicking a marshmallow at Lydia.

Stiles frowned between them, and then Scott added, with a splutter, “Oh god, no, just like, library policies or something.”

Erica looked at Scott, incredulous. “Okay.”

There was an awkward pause, the kind borne from people who didn’t know what to say to each other, and Stiles itched with it. He was about to spring in with _something_ , some stream of consciousness nonsense just to fill the air, when Derek’s voice rang out across the fire.

“Food’s ready.”

Stiles sprung to his feet, unspeakably grateful, and also considerably hungry to boot. Maybe things would be better once they’d all eaten? You could get like, hungry awkward just like how you could get hungry angry, right? He was doomed.

Derek had somehow brought a shitty little grill out into the woods for this, and Stiles couldn’t help but grin.

“Man, thanks!” Scott said, taking a plate and making grabby hands at the array of what looked like bean burgers. “You look like some kind of grill dad.”

Scott was too focused on the food, but Stiles noticed. Noticed the way Derek tensed, almost a flinch, hands tightening on his spatula.

“Hey!” Stiles said, too loud, too fast. “What are these? Bean burgers of some sort, right?”

Derek grunted and nodded. He seemed somewhat looser, but Stiles wasn’t sure if it was just wishful thinking on his part.

It took him until his third bite to realise that Derek likely had issues with the smell of cooking meat, and he nearly choked on it. Shit, it was a good thing Derek had handled the food, because he was pretty sure nobody else would’ve thought of that.

And then he was nearly choking on his _next_ bite, too, because a figure dropped out of the closest tree, landing in a neat crouch and roll, and his heart was going to kill him.

“Hey!” The figure said, and oh thank _god_ , it was Allison, nearly blending into the shadowed woods in her dark clothes.

“Holy shit,” Scott whispered beside him, and Stiles grinned.

“There’s still food, right? There was a car that I was watching, but it didn’t turn out to be hunters.” Allison smiled and returned Derek’s greeting nod.

“Oh!” Scott said, grinning. “You were keeping watch?”

“Not watch, exactly,” Allison said, adding a soft “thanks” when Derek passed her a plate, already loaded up. “More keeping an eye out, checking there’s no hunters or campers or anything.”

“So it’s just us out here?” Isaac asked, slouching on the ground.

“Looks like it,” Allison said, sitting down a little way away from him and then digging in.

“That’s good,” Scott said, through laughter, and Stiles turned to shoot him a baffled look.

“Scott, please don’t choke, jesus, man.” Stiles said.

“No, I’m good-” Scott said, waving a hand. “Just reminded me of- okay, okay. So.”

Stiles preemptively sat down, grinning a thanks at Derek when he stopped Stiles from spilling all over the dirt. That face combined with that suppressed laughter meant that Scott had something _good_ , also, why stand when he could sit? Fuck standing. Legs sucked.

“So, Berkeley has some great woods, I go out there on full moons, scare some bunnies, you know, all that shit.” Scott grinned, wiping sauce off his face idly with the back of his hand. “And like, lots of people like the woods. They’re good woods! Lots of, uh, trees. Shit, I don’t know. What makes woods good?”

Stiles snorted, and caught Derek burying his face in his hands.

“Having trees is a good start.” Boyd said, completely flat and straight-faced.

Scott grinned at him. God, Scotty. “Yeah! So, okay. It’s the full moon, and I’m out there being all wolfy, and usually it’s pretty late at night, and people don’t like to go out there after dark. Lots of stories of wolves, actually.”

Scott tilted his head at Derek, who nodded. “Likely werewolves.”

“Cool! So, anyway, I’m all-” Scott let his face shift, sideburns creeping down his face, and then receding into something more human. “And everything’s normal except for how I keep hearing these noises. Weird ones, you know? And things sound different when I’m shifted, so I don’t know what it is, and so I go closer,”

Stiles sighed in exasperation. God, there was probably _no_ strange sound that Scott wouldn’t investigate. Which was why he’d spent so much time sifting through all the information he could get his hands on to make a list of all the supernatural creatures at and around Berkeley.

“And that’s when I walk into the orgy in the woods.”

Jesus, of course. Stiles can’t help bursting out into laughter, and he’s not the only one.

“How could you not _smell_ it?” Erica asked, leaning in.

“Shit, I don’t know, they must’ve just started? Cause like, some of them had _some_ clothes on, and they definitely were better off. I uh, may have growled at them? From the bushes? And everyone ran, and one of them almost _stepped_ on me, fuck if I know how.”

“Well,” Allison said, face a bright pink. “No orgy-goers in the woods _this_ full moon.”

Oh shit, Stiles couldn’t resist. “Yeah?” He leered, waggling his eyebrows at her and shooting her an over-exaggerated wink.

“Oh _god_ ,” Scott groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Stiles, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time!” Stiles said, probably too brightly. Ah, shit. He sucked in a breath through his teeth. Way to kill a perfectly good conversation, Stiles.

“You’ve all got better control now.” Derek broke in, saving Stiles from having to decide what to do next. “You’ll be unused to spending a full moon with other wolves, but if you feel it slipping, there’ll be enough of us to help you.” He dropped a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, squeezing it, and Stiles saw Isaac tuck away a small smile. He didn’t get what that was about, specifically, but it still made his heart all fuzzy.

“And I can run faster nowadays!” Stiles said, pressing the toe of his shoe against Scott. “And everyone else is armed and dangerous, so we’re good, right?”

Derek nodded.

“Lydia’s got a gun, no dead guys waiting to be resurrected, _and_ no freaky chains? That doesn’t sound like us.” Isaac muttered, smiling when Scott laughed.

“The dead guy’s the weird uncle, right?” Erica sighed, crossing her arms and looking away. “Or was that some other unexplained thing?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, distant. He could almost feel Peter’s claws on his skin again, smell the blood and the fire from _that_ night, couldn’t help but look over to the spot where Derek had ripped his throat out. It wasn’t distinct or marked in any way, but he knew it. Couldn’t forget.

“He not down for full moon bonding time?” Erica asked, an undercurrent of hostility in her voice.

“No. Peter does his own thing.” Derek said, crossing his arms and staring up at the remains of the Hale House, effectively ending the conversation.

Stiles couldn’t blame him. Peter was… yeah.

The moonrise took Derek’s breath away, just like every other one before it. The wolf pulsed under his skin, and he shivered. His eyes were glowing red, and in his peripheral vision he could see the gold of several of the betas, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the huge, gorgeous full moon.

He watched her, for long, long minutes, until she was almost fully above the trees, casting light on the parts of the forest that the firelight would never quite reach. Finally, he tipped his head back into a howl, equal parts mournful and celebratory. He howled to her every month, finding solace in her, a steady, unshakeable companion, but this time was different.

This full moon, a set of howls joined his, uncertain and untested voices, that fit together perfectly nonetheless. His pack. At least for now. And when they left, he’d still have the moon.

The peaceful moment lingered, and then dissipated, the pack breaking back into movement and quiet conversation.

“Well, that sure was something,” Stiles said, his eyes huge, catching unreasonable amounts of moonlight.

“Surprised you didn’t join in with the howling,” Isaac muttered, toothy grin glinting in the firelight.

Stiles started to laugh, but beside him, Scott was growling. Yeah, figured it wouldn’t take long for one of them to start struggling with their control.

“Don’t talk to Stiles like that.” Scott forced out, between fangs. Isaac snorted out a half-laugh, and Scott sprung for him.

“Shit.” Derek breathed, muscles tensing, looking for an opportunity to jump in.

“Oh, come on, Scott, your form’s shit!” Erica crowed, pinging a soda can at them both.

Both of them snarled at her, but it was less murderous, now, Erica somehow adding levity, even as she extended her claws and shrugged off her jacket.

“Come on, wolfy fight club! Yeah?”

Scott and Isaac glanced at her, and then lunged at Erica together, and Derek sighed in relief when he saw them aiming punches, not claws. God, she’d be a perfect beta to some pack someday with instincts like that, a thought which stung with just how true it was.

Derek turned his back on their tussling, instead going to sit by Stiles, a good distance from the fire.

“That’s all okay, right?” Stiles asked, but he didn’t look concerned.

“Yeah.” Derek nodded, “Gets out the aggression and the energy, as long as they aren’t actually trying to kill each other.”

Stiles flashed him a somewhat shaky grin. “Yeah, that part sucks. Okay, hey!” He rummaged in his pockets, frowned, and then crawled over to where his bag was leaning on Lydia’s chair. Derek absolutely did not watch his ass.

“So!” Stiles said when he sat back down next to Derek, close enough to touch. “I figured now’s as good a time as any to run you through my list.”

Derek frowned, and Stiles went on to explain, “Of potential suspects. Not a great list, I got snagged up with like, fifty variants of skinwalkers, and that turned into a ‘creepy true stories’ rabbit hole, which, no way was any of that real. Like, I think we’ve got most of those internet weirdos beat in terms of weird life-threatening shit, but still, no way.”

“But you don’t think it’s a skinwalker?”

“Shit, I mean, like- okay, I’m not ruling it out, but I don’t think so? I spent a while looking into the Pesta, because of the decay, and the diseases all the victims seemed to have, but I’m not sure. That’s more the actual Black Death, and they don’t usually test for that, even in freak potential homicides.”

“I’m pretty sure we don’t have the actual plague.”

Stiles nodded, and tilted his head. “Would you guys even be able to catch that? With all the wolfy powers and shit?”

“Huh.” Derek considered for a moment, and then shrugged. “Catch it, maybe, but I think the healing would counterbalance the effects.”

“Huh, okay, cool! Right.” Stiles shook himself, fingers tapping near-frantically. “So, then there’s the likhoradka, who possesses people and causes sickness. There’s some stuff about boiling an egg from a black chicken with a bunch of other weird steps, but I think you could probably just rip her head off.”

“And then there’s like, a million variants of revenants, all evil dudes coming back from the dead with unfinished business. Not a zombie, but still like, dead and gross, which definitely fits here.”

Derek held back a shudder. “So what do you do about them?”

“Well,” Stiles said, skipping a few pages down the document he’d been scrolling. “It depends on the region it’s from, really. And their burial rituals, and religion. Lots of priests and holy water, in some places. My favourite’s the vrykolakas, a greek, uh, basically a vampire, but not? That guy can’t cross salt water, so people would exhume the body and ditch it on an abandoned island somewhere.”

“Useful.”

“Hey, fuck off, okay? You try finding a list of monsters that fit some weird ass criteria that _don’t_ come from some video game. Or Supernatural, that’s also the other option, apparently.”

Derek snorted, and realised he was smiling when Stiles’ entire face brightened.

“I did pull up some stuff on the crocotta, the thing that Kieran Humphrey was? Lots of stuff tied to hyenas, Pliny said it was super fast, and, depending on the source, they might be able to imitate the voices of loved ones. So,” Stiles shrugged. “Now you know that, too.”

“It might be stealing power from its victims.” The thing that had attacked them had been fast, too fast, and maybe if that was a stolen power, they could do something about it.

“Yeah, I figured that was a pretty safe bet. But we don’t have any way to prove it, or to know how it works, and ‘power-stealing’ or whatever is a pretty useless search term.” Stiles rubbed at his eyes, frowning. “I’m not happy with how little we have, at this point, but, I- yeah.”

“You’ve gotten a fair amount off of not that much.” Derek offered, glad to see the set of Stiles’ shoulders loosen somewhat.

“Yeah. I think I’ve got a couple more victims, the earlier ones definitely human. One isn’t, but I don’t know what- something all camouflage and sneaky. Which, you know, makes it hard to dig stuff up on. And I’m even more certain that Hayes was an omega, not that that changes things.”

“The most important thing is if we can kill it and if it has any weaknesses. The rest-” Derek waved a hand, staring into the fire.

“Yeah. We should get some holy water, at some point, to be safe, but unless you’ve got a priest hidden in that loft of yours…”

“You caught me. I’m secretly running a seminary in my free time.” Derek deadpanned, forcing himself not to smile. It was well worth it for the shocked and delighted look on Stiles’ face, and they both burst out into laughter.

“Oh, uh, so.” Stiles sucked in a breath through his teeth, glancing up at Derek and then away again. “Another option is that this is some kind of creature that hunters _did_ something to, and that’s why it’s not matching up with anything I can find. Just, to get that out there.”

Derek clenched his fists, his skin suddenly not fitting right. God, if this was something that hunters _made_ , someone that they’d taken and twisted and _broken_ into the sick creature he’d fought, he had no idea what he’d do. He’d kill it, he thought, but it wouldn’t be right.

Or maybe it would be the most right thing there was- a monster made by hunters taken down by another such monster. They didn’t even know how many people it had killed, so maybe he had the higher body count, out of the two of them.

He was shaking, and halfway into the alpha form, he realised, ears catching on the lurching rhythm of Stiles’ heartbeat.

“Hey, dude,” Stiles reached a hand out towards him, and Derek _snarled_ , jaw stretching to accommodate even more teeth, sharp and murderous.

No, what he’d do would be find the hunters who did this and stop at nothing to rip out their throats.

It wouldn't be hard. If Peter had managed it while half-dead, a new alpha with two unwilling betas, then Derek could do it. He wouldn’t even need the pack, would just buy some explosives, if it came to that.

“Derek.”

Derek’s head snapped up at the sound, and Stiles was there, on his feet, voice firm. He snarled again when Stiles reached out, but Stiles dismissed it with a roll of his eyes and a “Shut up”, placing his hand on Derek’s shoulder, where his shirt was straining with the shift.

“If you wanna get all wolfy, you can, but you gotta take a moment to chill, first.”

Stiles’ heartbeat was still racing, but his grip was firm, steady, everything about him solid and present.

Derek forced in a breath, and then another. He shuddered, screwing his eyes shut and forcing the shift back, wrenching his skin back into human shape.

“Yeah, there you go. I guess it’s not just the kids who have trouble with the full moon, huh?”

Derek scowled. “None of you are kids.”

Stiles, laughed, out of all things, his hand still on Derek’s shoulder. “Of course that’s what you go for. Nothing about how you nearly just flipped out on me, or that freaky shift, no, it’s us not being kids.”

Derek crossed his arms. “It’s true. What, did you want to re-enact the little red riding hood with me?”

“Yeah, sure.” Stiles grinned, finally letting go of Derek. “Hey, remind me to force all of you to watch Hoodwinked with me at some point, it’s a fuckin’ fever dream.”

Derek gave Stiles a _look_ , though he knew it didn’t have as much force behind it as it maybe should’ve.

He was saved from having to come up with a response by a shout of triumph from Erica, followed by immediate protests from Scott and Isaac.

“Hell yeah, I am the _boss_!” She crowed.

Derek glared.

“No way, fuck off-”

“Yeah, well, I kicked your ass, McCall, get your shit in gear.”

Derek was expecting them to keep bickering, not for Lydia to pitch in. “Would the winner like her reward?”

Erica’s face lit up, her posture shifting, and oh _god_ , Derek could smell the pheromones even from several yards away.

He watched as Lydia placed her fingers on Erica’s chin, tipping her face into the right angle to kiss her. Derek buried his face in his hands.

“Erica,” Allison’s voice rang out from where she’d been talking to Boyd, close to the edge of the clearing. “Keep those claws in check.”

Derek glanced up, seeing Erica stepping away, hastily forcing back the beta shift.

“What, you gonna shoot me again, _Argent_?”

Derek winced.

“I think I’ve got things under control, Allison.” Lydia’s voice was somewhat fond, at least.

“Friends look out for each other,” Allison shrugged. “Plus, I remember-” She cut herself off, casting a furtive glance at Scott and biting her lip.

“Yeah, so do I.” Erica glared at Allison, and Derek sighed.

“Enough.” He snapped, raising his voice. “Come sit by the fire and stop-” He broke off into a sigh.

Stiles nudged him with an elbow, re-centering his attention. “You gonna tell us campfire tales? Got any special werewolfy ghost stories?”

Derek rolled his eyes at him, but when everyone had sat down in a loose circle by the fire, he spoke. “I could tell you campfire stories. I could tell you the stories my family used to tell, or about my aunt, how she always got too close to the flames when she was telling them, caught her tail on fire each time. Or I could tell you something real.”

He paused, taking a moment to feel smug at the way he’d caught all their attention. Yeah, he could do campfire stories, all right.

It took several long, snarly hours, but finally, both the wolves and the humans had settled down next to the dwindling fire, rolling out blankets and pulling out books or phones or pillows. Stiles kept forcing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then glancing at his phone and ruining what meagre night vision he had gained.

If he squinted, ignored the pointed looks Erica shot at Allison, the burning in his own chest when he looked too long at Scott and Isaac whispering together, they almost looked like a pack. A real one.

He thought it hurt more, now, now that he knew what a pack looked like, acted like, felt like. He’d never- the Cordova pack wasn’t for him, he knew that. If he was being honest, he doubted there was a pack on the continent that he could fit into, that he’d be able to settle into like it was a home built just for him.

Stiles’ pack was right here, and they weren’t properly a pack, but just for tonight, he was going to let himself pretend.

He even found himself growing tired, and didn’t immediately reach for something to keep the weariness at bay. They had a watch schedule, which Stiles had been rudely forbidden from getting in on, with glares from Scott, and, more surprisingly, Derek.

Stiles looked over at Derek, eyes heavy. He never looked peaceful, not really, tended to flip between numb or furious, but this version of Derek was close.

Stiles had- god, Stiles had _loved_ listening to Derek tell them ghost stories, had watched the way he moved his hands as he spoke, had grinned wildly when Derek had punctuated a story with growls and fangs. He wanted to have had a chance to have known that Derek, the one he must’ve been before the fire, but in the same way that he wished that he’d had more time with the version of his dad that had existed before his mom had died. He wanted him light and free and happy, but that only made him want the current him more fiercely, with an edge of fury and hunger that scared Stiles sometimes.

And, he frowned to realise, he was starting to want Derek in a way he _very much_ did not want his dad, no thank you, jesus fucking _christ_.

Stiles buried his face in the bundled up hoodie he was using as a pillow. God, his brain _sucked_.

Once he was pretty sure his mind wasn’t going to wander down any unpleasant tangents, Stiles peeked up from his hoodie prison.

God, okay, he was doomed.

Derek was crouched next to Boyd, arms resting on his bent knees, staring him in the face and murmuring something too quietly for Stiles to hear. Boyd was shaking, somewhat, eyes gleaming gold in the darkness.

Stiles watched silently as Boyd’s features shifted, wolf to human and back again, Derek saying something in a quiet, calm voice all the while.

After a minute, Boyd seemed to manage to get his feet back under himself, and Derek rose from his crouch, placing one hand on the back of Boyd’s neck and squeezing. Boyd offered Derek a small, barely there smile, and somewhere, between one blink and the next, Stiles drifted off to sleep.

He woke up the next morning to sunlight streaming through trees, the air almost cool, for a Californian summer, at least. Stiles heaved himself up until he was sitting, blinking blearily at the sprawl of bodies around him until they started to make some sort of sense.

Lydia was apparently on watch, her legs folded into an impossible pretzel as she sipped at a mug and flipped through a heavy book. Stiles hauled himself over there, and she offered him a nod, indicating a flask of coffee with a flick of her book.

“Thanks,” He said, pouring himself some and squinting up at the sky. “So. Werewolves, huh?”

Lydia snorted, shooting him an exasperated look.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles grinned, careful to keep his voice low. He stared out over the pack, the way they were all just barely not touching, curled close together but still distant enough for plausible deniability. God, it was a good thing it wasn’t one of the wolves on morning watch, because he was sure he was making his _want_ obvious enough that one of their super senses would pick up on it.

Though that was assuming Lydia fucking Martin was any less observant, which was probably a fatal mistake.

“So! Erica.” He deflected brightly.

“Yes, Stiles. Erica.”

“That’s new. And I remember her saying some stuff to you on Sunday-”

“Stuff that was completely true.” Lydia cut him off, shutting her book.

Stiles blinked at her, and she sighed.

“Come on, Stiles, we’re far too alike to not know what it looks like when someone’s running from something.”

“I-” Stiles spluttered. “I have no idea what you mean. I’m not running, I’m, you know, college.”

Lydia just stared him down. “Of course you aren’t. Which is why you haven’t spoken to any of us all year, despite keeping constant tabs. I’m sure working yourself half to death is healthy.”

“Fuck off.” Stiles scowled. “None of you spoke to me either, it’s not like I’m avoiding-”

“That’s not what I said. We’ve all been running from this. And yet,” She said, waving a hand in the direction of the sleeping pack.

Stiles sighed, staring down into his coffee as if that would save him. “Yeah, well.” He said, uselessly, and thankfully, Lydia didn’t press any further, just returned to her book. He wondered how she’d been running, since he had a pretty good guess as to what it was _from_.

He sat there watching everyone sleep for a while, and gradually, people began to stir. And then, almost suddenly, everyone was awake, grumbling and crowding around for coffee. Stiles wanted a second cup himself, but when werewolf fangs started coming out, he decided better of it.

Well, he did for a minute, and then was hit by a full body yawn that nearly sent him tripping into the dirt, so he pushed through the loose crowd of wolves. Isaac snapped his teeth at him, and Stiles glowered back. “Fuck off, asshole.”

Isaac’s snarl just deepened, and Scott stepped in, resting a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “Hey.”

Isaac relaxed minutely with Scott’s hand, and normally Stiles would’ve loved to see that, but he was tired and undercaffeinated and that was _his_ best friend, and maybe he was still a little bit sore from Lydia being too on fucking point, as usual.

“Get out my fucking way, Lahey.” He snapped, shouldering in and grabbing the flask, not hesitating before pouring it into his mug.

“Stiles, come on-” Scott reached out for him, and Stiles shrugged him off, before feeling like an asshole. He sighed, and handed the coffee over to Isaac, rolling his eyes at Scott.

“God,” Boyd muttered, from a couple feet off. “It’s almost like you two didn’t try to murder each other last night.”

Stiles, for his part, raised his eyebrows and ducked out from between the werewolves. He had no clue why Boyd was defending him, or if it even _was_ defending him, rather than just taking a shot where he saw one.

“Yeah, well.” Scott replied, “We worked it out.”

“Yeah, once I beat the shit out of both of you,” Erica grinned, pausing between huge bites of a bagel.

“Someone’s going to have to clean up all that blood,” Allison nodded towards where they’d fought, and sure enough, blood!

“Yeah?” Erica ripped another chunk off her bagel and narrowed her eyes at Allison. “Bet you’re good at that, right? Hiding bodies, evidence, shooting people.”

Allison flinched and withdrew into herself, which of course got Scott growling at Erica.

There was a heavy sigh from Lydia, and then a loud, sharp “Hey!” from Derek.

Everyone turned to look at him, Stiles included, and Derek let his eyes gleam red, looking like he was about to start cracking heads. Thankfully for all their skulls, Derek let out a steadying breath and just said “Shut up until after breakfast.”

Stiles gave him a little salute, grinning. “Sir, yes sir!”

Derek directed his scowl towards him, eyes narrowing further, but it wasn’t his murder glare, so Stiles just kept grinning back at him. Eventually, Derek rolled his eyes and turned away to grab something to eat.

Stiles was just wondering if he could convince everyone, or at least enough people to make it safe, to go grab some eggs and bacon and shit from somewhere, when all the wolves’ heads snapped up simultaneously.

He snorted. “What’cha hear, Lassie?” Scott flipped him off.

“Howling. There’s another wolf nearby.” Derek said, shucking his jacket and pulling his shirt over his head. Stiles blinked at him and his suddenly bare chest. Was he hallucinating? It was too early for this shit.

Beside him, Allison loaded her crossbow, and then pressed a knife into Stiles’ palm. He blinked, and then his mind ratcheted into gear, snapping seamlessly into lightning fast go mode.

He quickly pulled on his shoes and laced them up, and when he looked up, Derek was a huge fucking wolf thing, nowhere near as gross as Peter’s alpha form had been.

“It sounds like it’s in trouble.” Scott said, and huge wolf Derek nodded. “You guys can keep up with us, right?” He added, looking at the humans. Stiles flipped him off, but nodded, and then they were all bounding out of the clearing, Derek taking the lead for a minute, before dropping back to lope beside Stiles and Lydia, the slowest of them all.

Stiles chuckled, but didn’t say anything, all his breath going towards keeping him going. Man, werewolves were fast. He also really didn’t like how they were just racing into some situation without knowing anything about what they were getting into, but this was _far_ from the first time they’d done this as a group, and even further from the first time Stiles himself had done it.

He didn’t know this part of the woods that well, the wrong side of the Preserve for him to have explored it when he was younger, but that didn’t matter now. They were following werewolf senses, Scott in the lead, so Stiles having been here before wasn’t exactly going to make much of a difference. 

Stiles’ lungs were screaming, and he was really grateful that he’d ended up doing a bit of exercise over the past year, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this pace. Just as he thought that, though, Scott’s head snapped around.

“There, by that gully!” He called, springing off in the direction he’d indicated. “Isaac, Allison, with me!”

Stiles clutched at Lydia’s arm, making sure he didn’t lose track of her, glancing around to check where Boyd and Derek were- thankfully right by him, with Erica a little ways ahead. They really couldn’t afford the infighting that would come from losing track of each other.

Derek circled his little group in a worried loping pace, flicking his ears towards every little noise he heard. There was the unmistakable sound of Lydia flicking the safety off of her handgun, and there, somewhere between the distant noise of Scott calling out to Allison and Isaac and the thundering of Stiles’ heart, he heard a whine, a wheeze, a dying gasp.

He jolted forwards, dropping into the all-out sprint that this form was _made_ for, barely even considering the idea of waiting for the slower members of his pack to catch up to him. There was someone _dying_ a little ways ahead, a _wolf_. He knew that sound. He knew exactly what it sounded like when a werewolf died.

His claws tore chunks of bark off a branch as he flung himself forwards, through some trees, and then he saw it. Bloated, rancid, almost the colour of scorched flesh. Crouched on the chest of a sluggishly bleeding man, no heartbeat between the two of them.

Derek roared, lunging forwards, as the creature wrenched its claws out of the back of the man’s neck, and they collided. It felt awful to touch, wrong and like it should’ve been long dead, something which Derek only absently noted as he flung the creature off of him, sending it flying into a tree.

He got his legs under himself, preparing to spring, but hesitated at the jolt of shock and surprise that came down the pack bond. The precious moment it took him to work out that he wasn’t picking up on any pain was long enough for the monster to make another attack, slicing along his side, deep enough to make each breath sting.

Derek snarled, whirling to counter-attack, running on instinct and well-honed reflexes, ripping a chunk of its back leg out with his teeth. It tasted like death in his mouth, blood and ash and loss.

Boyd leapt into the fray before either of them could make another move, golden eyes flicking over the scene as he snarled. Derek braced himself, shifting his weight, ready to leap, somehow managing not to startle when a gunshot rang through the trees, Scott and Isaac bursting through not a second later.

Derek leaped forwards, hoping for the monster to be momentarily surprised. Instead, he only narrowly avoided impaling himself on its thrust out claws, managing to rake his own across its face nonetheless. He felt Boyd’s presence beside him, Erica sneaking through the trees, and let his face twist into a smug wolfy grin.

The monster sprung away, up into the canopy. Derek could hear its escape, cracking through the branches, and another, almost identical sounding thing doing the same not far away. Oh _shit_ , there was more than one, wasn’t there?

“What the fuck?” Erica yelled, rising from her crouch among the bushes. “Scott, you said it was over in a gully, not on top of a dead guy!”

Scott snarled, stalking forwards. “It was. And it was apparently _here_ too.”

“So what, there’s more than one?” Isaac crossed his arms, and Derek shuddered through the shift, returning to his human skin.

“Yeah.” He said, simply, biting back a wince when the nasty slices across his side and ribs stung with the motion. Fuck, that thing was _sharp_.

“And you didn’t think that was worth telling the rest of us?” Stiles snapped, shouldering forwards and into Derek’s space. Derek met his eyes steadily, scowling, the fact that he was naked flicking through his awareness for only a second.

“If I’d _known_ -” Derek started, only for Scott to snort.

“Yeah, like you tell us _shit_.” He said, eyes glowing gold.

“He wasn’t the only one there that first night.” Boyd turned away from the trees to shoot a pointed glare at Scott.

“It was dark, we couldn’t see shit!” Scott yelled, throwing his hands up.

Derek shot him a pointed look. “Yes, it was.”

Scott scowled, and then turned away, clenching his hands and storming off for a few paces.

“Shit, it might still only be one, since _Scott_ let it escape.” Erica snapped, showing fang.

“No we fucking didn’t!”

“Oh, sorry, uh, where’s the monster, then?”

Scott growled, whirling back around to get up in Erica’s face. “Look-”

“Guys.” Stiles said, tone distant, removed. “This guy’s a werewolf.”

“Yeah?” Scott said, like he couldn’t give less of a damn. Isaac glanced at Derek, and he nodded, confirming what Stiles had said. “So fucking what, Stiles?”

“No, like, this is Jonathan Weber, he’s not an Omega, he’s from the pack down in Fresno.” Stiles frowned, crouching by the body. Derek couldn’t help but match his frown. He knew Stiles buried himself in information when he was worried or stressed or avoiding something, but he had no idea what he was doing knowing specific details and members of nearby packs. Derek saw similar looks on several of the others, too.

And then there was the matter that Stiles was actually _getting_ at.

“So it’s strong enough to take out members of an established pack.” Lydia said, eyeing the dead body.

“Shit.” Boyd muttered, and Derek swung around, dragging a hand down his face. He’d known that they were all in serious danger, but this was somehow a new level. He wasn’t a great fighter, and wasn’t a strong alpha, either, so it being able to kick the shit out of him was worrying, but honestly, at this point he almost expected it.

The Fresno pack was fierce, though, from what he remembered, large, close knit, and renowned for their fighting ability. One of their wolves coming to Beacon Hills was odd, sure, but it wasn’t far enough of a distance to be unheard of, but for him to be taken down like this, smoothly, cleanly, almost _easily_ …

Derek swallowed, and then startled when Lydia stepped into his line of sight. She pulled out a pair of sweatpants from the small bag on her back, handing them to him, and Derek blinked in surprise, before pulling them on. They were clearly sized for her, not him, but he didn’t have time to think of that.

“Derek, what the _fuck_?” Scott shoved at his shoulder, and Derek moved with it, keeping the distance between him and Scott. “You let us come back to Beacon Hills when _this_ shit was happening? What the _hell_ , man?”

Derek snapped, drawing himself up and glaring at Scott. “What the fuck do you think you’re talking about, Scott? I didn’t know about this until you did, and let’s be real, when have you listened to a single word I’ve said? What would you have done if I’d told you not to come back, huh?”

God, he probably should’ve known something was up. Definitely should’ve. This was supposed to be his territory, under his protection, but he hadn’t.

“You’re supposed to be the _alpha_.” Scott’s voice was vicious, sarcastic. “Aren’t you supposed to know what’s happening around here? Keep your _pack_ out of danger?”

Derek covered his wince with another snarl, barely managing to keep his face human even as his claws slid out. “ _What_ fucking pack?” He hissed, regretting it the moment the words slipped out, his heart stuttering up a few notches.

Erica forced out a bitter sigh, before it twisted up into rage again. “What do you expect, it’s Derek. Our friendly little _hunter_ , though…”

“I’ve been away, just like the rest of you.” Allison snapped, arms crossed.

“Just figured your fucking hunter training might’ve come in useful. Like, knowing what this thing _is_ , for a start.”

Allison snorted, a hurt smell rolling off her in waves. “Yeah, my grandfather using my mom’s death to brainwash me sure gave me an encyclopaedic knowledge of all things that go bump in the night.”

Erica wound up to retort, but Boyd beat her to it. “Why are you here, Allison? There’s hunters in town, have been since you Argents ditched it. Why aren’t you with them?”

Derek raised his eyebrows, tilting a look at Allison. He’d been wondering the exact same thing, quietly, in the background of all their stilted interactions.

Allison let out a breath that sounded like it wanted to be words, and Scott snarled at Derek, clearly about to start yelling in her defense.

“Why am _I_ here, then?” Lydia asked, staring Boyd down. “Why are any of us here? It’s _clearly_ just going to end in us getting killed.”

“Cause we’ve got nowhere else to go.” Isaac said. “You remember that guy who got cut in half, Senior year? Apparently that’s what happens to werewolves without a pack.”

“You remember the rest of Senior year, right?” Stiles cut in, from where he was still crouched by the dead body. “That’s what happens when you werewolves try to keep humans out of the loop.”

Erica tilted her head, conceding the point, but clearly not the argument. Derek didn’t want to know what she was going to say next, knew that everything that they were yelling at each other over this poor werewolf’s dead body was going to haunt him, chase him through the empty woods.

Scott frowned at the body. “But there’s other packs nearby. Who you know.” He turned to face Derek, jutting up his chin.

Boyd sucked in a breath, also staring at Derek, almost like he could see straight through him. Derek resisted the urge to hide, pulled on all of the bravado he had, slammed up ‘big bad alpha’ in between him and everything else, like he should’ve been doing all this time. Why had he ever even stopped?

“Scott’s right.” Boyd said, eyes sharp, arms folded. “You could have hooked us up with one of them, or at least told us who to call, rather than letting us try to run off into the woods.”

Stiles flinched in the corner of Derek’s eye, and Erica flashed her fangs, stepping closer to Stiles.

“Hell,” Isaac muttered, bitter and brittle. “Even _Stiles_ \- you knew that guy, you clearly were looking into it. Didn’t think we were worth sending a couple of phone numbers to? Or did you just figure that none of those other packs would want- _us_ , either?”

Stiles stood up, shoulders curled in on himself. “That’s not-” He started, glancing away. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“What were you doing, then? Keeping tabs on werewolves a new hobby of yours?”

Stiles spluttered, visibly struggled for a comeback, and eventually landed on “Fuck you, Isaac.”

“That’s not _Stiles’_ job.” Scott said, growling and rounding back on Derek. Derek rocked forwards into the challenge, instead of withdrawing away like he wanted- that wasn’t what alphas did.

“Yeah, but it’s not like Derek’s gonna go talk to other packs on your behalf.” Stiles cut in, a look of resignation coming over him. “Everyone I talked to barely knew what happened to the Hales, and it’s not like he’s social enough to pick up on old contacts.”

Derek saw Isaac shrug, and Erica nod consideringly. He sucked in a breath, pushing aside all his morbid curiosity about what other packs thought of his and the mess he’d made of it.

“Look, I can-” He gritted out, clenched fists trembling slightly. “I can track down some of my mom’s friends. You all deserve a good pack. But right now-” Derek forced himself to look up, digging into the hollow pit that was the last reserves of his strength. “That’s gonna have to wait until after.”

Everyone glanced down at the dead guy they were standing next to, and the atmosphere shifted, slightly.

Like they were, Derek didn’t think they stood a fucking chance against this monster. They’d barely survived the kanima, and that had mostly been down to Scott going behind everyone’s backs and Stiles working shit out at the last second- and they hadn’t been _closer_ as a pack, during that whole ordeal, but there was an absence of the bitterness, the resigned resentment that coated all their actions, their cruel words.

And the monster wasn’t alone, there was two, and where there was two, you might as well assume there were more. It was specifically targeting the supernatural, now, and it had managed to _rip away Derek’s wolf_ , and he really didn’t see a way where they could make it out of this alive.

But Derek was the alpha. And even beyond that, he was the oldest, if only by two years, and he had the most experience and knowledge of the supernatural, and all of that added up to mean that if they _knew_ he thought this was hopeless, it really fucking would be.

“I shouldn’t have bitten you.” He said, glancing at Boyd, Erica, and Isaac in turn. He’d undeniably ruined their lives, at least for the foreseeable future. But maybe, maybe if they could deal with this creature, he could get them out, get them safe, before he got all his _disaster_ all over them too much. “But right now, this is what we have. Sending you to another pack won’t solve this. Something’s killing people in Beacon Hills. We know it’s good enough to take me down, to take this guy down, probably more.” He paused, focused on his next breath, on the thundering heartbeats surrounding him. “Our only chance is to move like a pack.”

Scott blinked at him, face firm. “That doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”

Derek wanted to throw his hands up in frustration, but he was too tense, too tightly wound. “Fine. Whatever. But until we kill this thing, I’m your alpha.”

Scott looked like he was going to keep arguing, but Allison put a hand on his shoulder.

“What are you going to do, Scott, kill him and take charge?” Boyd asked, eyebrows raised.

Scott huffed, and looked away. Derek quietly thanked _god_.

“What, we have to just _forget_ about everything? All the shit you said before, _and_ the part where some of us got fucking _stabbed_ by others? And how even _you_ said we weren’t a pack?” Isaac hissed, eyes narrow, posture defensive. God, was that what Derek looked like when he felt small but was trying to make himself seem big and dauntless?

He opened his mouth to respond, but Stiles was moving, fingers twitching against his sides as he drew himself up to stand in front of Isaac.

“Oh my god, _no_ , asshole.” Stiles rolled his eyes, and then let the aggressive tone drop. “Look, I don’t give a damn if we’re pack, right?”

Derek blinked. Stiles was _lying_ , heartbeat stuttering as clear as day. He wanted- he _cared_ about- _what_?

“But I’m not gonna watch any of you fuckers die. That’s how this ends, right? We can’t get our shit together for the week or so it takes to deal with this shit, and one of us dies. Or hell, more than one!” Stiles threw his hands out, face deadly serious, heart racing. “Not gonna happen!”

Stiles glanced around, and Derek’s breath caught in his throat.

“Not gonna _fucking_ happen.” Stiles repeated, more firmly. “You’re all gonna go have like a million wolf puppies or something, whatever, you’ll be happy, and- and if that means we put all the _baggage_ away for a while, then cool! Fine! I’m not- I’m not going to watch any of you die because we couldn’t stop arguing.” He finished, and Derek’s eyes met his, and he felt his face soften along with Stiles’.

The forest hung for a moment, and Derek didn’t dare break the stillness, just staring at Stiles and letting whatever feelings were flooding through him remain nameless, unexamined.

Finally, Erica sighed. “Okay. Pack it is, then.” She looked at Allison, and offered her a tiny nod, elbowing Isaac in the side until he muttered out a tiny “Okay.”

Lydia nodded, holstering her gun and shooting a look at Scott when he opened his mouth, until Scott nodded too.

Awe. That was close to the right word for this moment. It was like- like when he’d seen redwoods for the first time, or the view from the mountain he’d climbed with his dad as a kid, the kind of breathlessness where all Derek could do was _watch_ and _feel_. It was temporary, he reminded himself, a truce, borne of convenience, but. But Derek had been _starving_ for this since Laura had died, since before that, since he was fifteen, really, and god, would he take this crumb.

Stiles bit his lip, and then burst out into a grin. “Should we all put our hands in a circle or something? What would we yell- go wolf? Awoo?”

Scott snorted, and Stiles caught both Lydia and Boyd rolling their eyes. Fucking _score_.

God, he hoped that he hadn’t given too much away to their wolfy senses. Scott probably already knew everything he was barely letting himself think about pack, because he was _Scott_ , but everyone else knowing would be just fucking awful.

Okay, keep running distraction. “Okay, I’ll take that as a no! What about getting away from the dead werewolf? Just a suggestion, you know, to avoid more fugitive of the law stuff. Unless you enjoyed that, in which case, I can recommend like fifty better ways to get yourself in trouble with the law.” Stiles grinned, and sure, he was forcing it a little, but of course he was! He got a scowl from Isaac, and a different one from Derek, but still.

Everyone else was nodding, and Allison nudged at Isaac’s arm, before both of them crouched to peer at the body. “Who has the best camera on their phone?” She asked, carefully not touching anything.

Stiles looked pointedly at Lydia, and she sighed at him. “Here.”

“Let Isaac take the pictures, he’s faster, can catch up if we start moving.” Scott said, looking like he wanted to put a hand on Allison’s shoulder, but wasn’t sure if that was allowed. Things did seem to be going better between the two of them, but yeah, Scott was probably right to be hesitant.

Allison nodded and Lydia passed her phone to Isaac with a glare and a “Don’t break it, don’t touch anything,” and then they were leaving, Derek leading the way, hopefully back to the Hale House, where all their stuff was. Well, apart from whatever was in Lydia’s backpack, which- Stiles tilted his head, glancing at Derek to check- apparently had included a spare pair of pants. Which was good, because yelling at the guy while he was naked and standing over a dead body would’ve been an _experience_.

One Stiles was pretty sure he wanted to have, all things considered, but that was like, a _him_ thing, not something that normal people wanted or thought about or had to face before 10 am. What Scott had been calling his ‘Derek thing’ since well before there was actually even the slightest bit of a thing there was maybe growing in the face of this new version of Derek- the therapy model. Some shit like that. Stiles was a fucking mess. (Hell, he needed about as much therapy, if he thought about it, which he _really fucking didn’t want to_.)

It didn’t take long for Isaac to catch up, and Stiles really hoped he’d gotten good photos, even though he knew they’d end up ‘borrowing’ the official police ones, too. He’d have preferred to have his own crime lab to force into having a look at the body, but photos would have to do, unless he somehow found time to go into forensics and start his own supernatural fucking forensics department. Which he _really_ didn’t.

He had a pack to keep alive. That kind of ate up all of his time.

After a few more minutes of silent trekking through the woods, Allison paused in front of Stiles, turning back to look at everyone, and oh _god_. Stiles knew that look, shattered and defeated and guilty and with an undercurrent of steel, knew the look in her face, the way she stood, the way she bit her lip. He didn’t like to think about her, about her family, about what had happened, because the ache was too fucking familiar, but apparently he, or more likely, _they,_ couldn’t keep avoiding it forever.

“Hey,” She said, voice soft, calling everyone to a halt. “Look, I-” Allison screwed her eyes shut, and Scott shifted beside Stiles.

“I want this to work. And I get it, okay. Just- what do you _want_ from me?” Allison asked, everything about her baked in defeat and old grief. “I can’t undo anything, I can’t _not_ have the family I do, so, what? Do you want me to _apologise_ , like that will change what I did?”

“Yes.” Scott said, voice soft, but firm.

Allison stared at Scott for a moment, before her lips twitched in a tiny smile.

“I’m serious!” He said, all earnest.

God, Stiles loved Scott.

Allison looked at Isaac, at Boyd, Erica. Scott did too, and then moved to stand beside Boyd, shoulders bumping together. “Really. You apologise, we deal with this thing, and we move on.”

“Okay.” Allison said, sucking in a breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hurt you guys, that’s not who I want to be.”

Erica nodded. “You’re not forgiven.” She said, simply, but smiled. “But you did save my ass the other day, so I think I can see where this goes.”

Isaac nodded, shrugging. “Just don’t stab me again. Come on, I’m hungry.”

Stiles grinned, letting the relief take him. He watched Boyd offer Allison a small smile, and Scott give her a grin before they both got moving again. Scott swayed on the spot a little, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt, before Lydia nudged him in the back, and he followed the pack. They were still barely a pack, but. But this was another taste of what he wanted, and he’d take it- some was better than none, any day of the week.

Derek was lingering, clearly waiting so he could bring up the rear, which Stiles found secretly adorable. Stiles smiled at him, but Allison wasn’t moving either, not quite done.

“Derek.” She said, screwing her eyes shut.

Ah, shit, and then there was _that_ baggage, Victoria and Kate and Derek’s whole fucking family.

“Look, about my mom-” Allison started, forcing the words out like they were sharp little blades. Stiles wanted to step in, to reassure her somehow, but he knew, deep in him, that it wasn’t his place. Everyone else was gone, pushing through the trees, and Stiles angled himself carefully, delicately placing himself on Derek’s side.

“No.” Derek said, steady and gentle. “I get it. It’s-”

“It’s about the blood we spill now, not what was before.” Stiles murmured, echoing a line he’d read in one of the oldest, most treasured books in the Cordova’s library. Apparently, it not being his place wasn’t going to stop him.

Derek stared at him, wide-eyed, and Stiles just met his gaze with a little shrug.

“Oh,” Allison breathed, and Derek turned back to her with the world’s tiniest nod. At that, her posture shifted, and Stiles’ breath caught, his heart feeling like it skipped a beat. Slowly, carefully, even as Isaac popped his head back over one of the trees to check on them, Allison turned her head, chin angled to expose her throat.

Derek rumbled beside Stiles, a soft animal noise, and he straightened up.

“Any way I, my name, my skills can help, I offer it to you, alpha.” Allison said, her eyes still closed, still holding her position. God, Stiles had no idea if hunters even knew about this, about the symbols and posturing and legacies of werewolf culture, but apparently Allison did. God, an Argent, tipping her head for a Hale alpha, Stiles fucking loved his pack with everything that he was.

“I’ll keep you safe.” Derek replied, not quite the same words as the versions of this that Stiles had found, but then, neither was what Allison had said. They were forging their own path, it seemed.

“Thank you.” Allison turned back, glanced at Derek, at Stiles, and then walked off towards Isaac, who was frowning hilariously.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles breathed, helpless. Derek looked as stunned as he felt, and they stayed like that for a moment, half grinning, half gaping at each other. “Okay, come on. Before Scott eats all the food.”

After they’d eaten everything that they could, the pack ( _god_ , the _pack_ ) started bickering about who would go where, but it was almost companionable. Stiles dropped out from a stupid, goofy argument with Scott when he saw Derek lingering on the edges, ostensibly sweeping the area for any last remnants of trash.

“Hey,” Stiles said as he approached. “You wanna do a perimeter sweep or something, walk and talk? Stay where they can hear me scream if something goes wrong?”

Derek snorted, and nodded. Stiles waited until they were a little ways away from everyone before he spoke up. They were probably still within range of fancy werewolf hearing, but everyone was distracted, and Stiles didn’t really care anyways.

“So.” He said, jamming his hands in his pocket to hopefully restrain himself from fidgeting too much. “You probably guessed, or just knew telepathically, fuck if I know, but I spent Spring Break with the Cordova pack. And a couple of weekends besides that.”

Derek stiffened beside him, but they kept walking, so Stiles kept talking.

“They’re all a bit confused by me, I think, and like, pack stuff. I don’t know. They’re cool, and all, but they know I’m from Beacon Hills, and Ammara’s very carefully _not_ asked about my pack, so.”

“So you’re going to join them, later.” Derek didn’t phrase it as a question, and Stiles threw his hands up.

“Fuck, dude, what? Oh my god, okay, look, that’s not what I’m saying.”

Derek still looked dubious, so Stiles stepped neatly in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. The tree behind him had little red berries on it, either a warning or an offering.

“What _are_ you saying, then, Stiles?” Derek gritted out, and then the mask slipped a little, and he just looked... small.

 _God_. “Okay, this place is my home, and I’m not fucking leaving, just get that though your head, yeah?” He said, instead of telling Derek that his was the only pack for Stiles, no matter how broken and barely there and not even a pack.

“But, well.” Stiles continued, crossing his arms and looking away, biting hard on his lip, and then everything just welled up and over.

“I know what pack looks like now.” He finally met Derek’s gaze, shoulders set. “I know what pack looks like and it’s family and it’s everything and you didn’t even _try_. We- _I_ \- hell, even you- _needed_ pack, the real thing, all of it, and I fucking _know_ what it’s like now, how it feels, how-” His voice broke embarrassingly, and Stiles just pressed on, leaning into Derek’s space. “You didn’t even _try_.”

Derek stared him down, even when Stiles thought he might shake himself apart. At least Derek looked wrecked too.

Derek closed his eyes after another second. “You’re better off for it.”

“ _What_?” Stiles snapped, angry, and then repeated it, soft, barely above a whisper. “What?”

“You are.” Derek said with a shrug, otherwise completely unmoving, a statue.

“Derek.” Stiles murmured, and then louder, but still as gentle, “Derek. We all need each other. We need this. We- _they_ \- might choose another pack, down the line, but we all need it. Want it, too. Right?”

Derek whirled away, rubbing his hands across his face and then propping himself up against a tree, back to Stiles. “I’m not saying this is _good_. Just that it’s _better_.”

Stiles moved forwards, considered touching Derek, and, seeing the way he was tense like a live-wire, decided to sit on the floor instead, back to the tree Derek was using to hold himself upright. Fuck, today really was the day for emotional pipebombs, wasn’t it?

He bit his tongue on a flurry of words. What he would say, he didn’t know, but somehow he knew none of it was needed.

“It’s my fault.” Derek sank to the floor, folding to his knees, his arms and his forehead pressed to the bark.

Stiles felt like he’d been hollowed out, stripped for parts like old copper wiring, and he wasn’t even entirely sure why.

“It’s-” Derek started, cutting himself off with a growl, an all too human one.

“Hey,” Stiles breathed, offering Derek his hand. Derek glanced at him, worked through a few shuddery breaths, and then repositioned so he too was sat in the dirt with his back to the tree. Damn good tree, too.

After a moment, Derek took his hand, tangling their fingers together.

“My first- and only- real relationship was with Kate Argent.”

 _Oh_ , that, _that_ was why Stiles felt so raw. His mind flicked through everything he knew or remembered about the fire, and _god_ , Derek was barely in high school, back then, and damn, _Kate fucking Argent_.

“Shit,” He breathed, tipping his head back to thunk against the bark.

“I didn’t know until after the fire. I got a text, right before Laura took us to New York.”

“Yeah. _Shit_ , Derek, she was _how_ old? There’s no way it’s your fault.”

Derek sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, hand finally squeezing Stiles’. “I know, logically, it wasn’t my fault. But-”

“But believing it on an emotional level is a whole other thing?” Stiles asked, staring at the sky through the branches. Yeah, _that_ one he knew all about.

“Yeah.”

They sat, fingers twisted together, and watched as a little bird came fluttering to land in a nearby tree, hopping from branch to branch until it settled and started sorting out its feathers.

“I just- everything I touch turns to ash.” Derek whispered, voice hoarse, and when Stiles turned, he was looking right at him, at their joined hands. Stiles let out a tiny noise, halfway to a whine.

“Hey,” He said, so fucking gentle and breathy. “We’re all alive, right? Like, it’s been close, but. But we’re here, still. I won’t pretend it’s _good_ ,” He laughed, humourless, rubbing his free hand across his eyes.

“But it’s something. And like- if we are doomed, curse of Derek Hale’s shitty life, all that- say we have a year before a vampire rips all our throats out, or something, whatever. How do you wanna spend that year?”

Derek still hadn’t looked away from him, and Stiles watched him suck in steadying breaths, squeezed back when Derek clenched down on his hand.

“I’m not saying I’m doing it, either. I barely even spoke to _Scott_ all year. But-”

“But what?” Derek asked dryly. “We’re all doomed anyway, might as well have pack movie nights?”

Stiles laughed despite himself, and Derek even half smiled.

“Sure.” He shrugged. “If that’s what it takes. Maybe they don’t want it, don’t want-” He bit his tongue before he could say ‘me’, and forced himself onwards. “But they’re all here. You’re here and I’m here and we don’t have to be.”

Derek nodded, closing his eyes.

“You’re really not going to go join the Cordovas? You’d be a great emissary, Stiles.”

Stiles nudged his shoulder against Derek’s. “Yeah?”

Instead of saying anything, Derek nodded again.

Stiles bit his tongue. God, he- he fucking-

Screw it. What was the worst that could happen, here, among the trees and the little berries and the quietly roosting birds? Derek would tell him he wasn’t wanted in his pack, that he was just Scott’s plus one, an annoying chaser to an annoying werewolf- and then what? Stiles would go back to research, keep watching from afar, try and fail not to address the elephant in the room. So _fucking_ what?

Besides, he was fucking telling Derek that it was worth _trying_ to build a pack, even if it failed, even if they died, so yeah, he was a fucking coward, and yet. And yet, could it be worth trying to build a pack, a home, even if it rejected him? Shit.

“I don’t wanna be their emissary.” He said, staring at Derek like he had done so many times, looking right in the face of something that terrified him and fucking doing it anyway. “I could never be an emissary to a pack that isn’t yours. I could never _belong_ to a pack that isn’t yours.”

A bird chirped above them, and Derek stared, his face shifting. Stiles had never seen him in the weird partial shift outside of a fight, before. Still, he didn’t look away.

“You’re not lying.” Derek sounded- _something_. Out of breath, halfway to amazed, maybe? Stiles just shrugged.

Derek pulled him into a hug, then, burying his face and a soft, whispered “Okay,” into Stiles’ neck, and he clung back just as hard, grabbing fistfuls of Derek’s leather jacket, tipping his head to press his cheek against Derek’s.

“Okay,” Stiles breathed in response, almost unconsciously matching his breathing to Derek’s, both of them ragged and worn thin. He felt good, right, against Stiles, and shit, maybe he would actually get to _keep_ this.

Derek should’ve heard Scott coming, from his footsteps or his heartbeat, at least, but, well. There was _Stiles_ , all up in his senses, his skin warm and soft against Derek’s face where he’d buried it in Stiles’ neck. Stiles’ heartbeat had jumped, at first, when Derek had drawn him into a hug, but it was steady and slow now, not rabbiting around in fear and distraction like he was used to. It hurt, a little, that he was used to the sound of Stiles’ heart in a panic, a crisis, and not in quiet moments, but, well, what could he even do about that?

Scott rapped his knuckles against a tree, and that was what finally alerted Derek to his presence. He jumped and pulled himself away from Stiles, blinking his eyes hard, as if that would make him look less like he’d fallen apart in the woods, on the dirt, against a tree. Against Stiles.

“Hey.” Scott said, face as puppyish as ever. That fucking kid, man, Derek had no idea what to do with him. Laura would’ve known.

“Scott!” Stiles blurted out, struggling to his feet. “Hey, buddy, what’s up?”

Derek stood too, with much less flailing and tangled limbs than Stiles, while Scott spoke. “People wanna get going, you’re a driver.” He shrugged.

Scott didn’t follow Stiles when he nodded and started walking off, and Derek steadied his breathing, searching for any last scraps of strength and togetherness he had. God, this really was the day for it, wasn’t it?

“Scott?” Stiles asked, turning, loudly cracking a branch in half as he did. “What are you-”

“I’m just gonna-”

“What-”

“You know, it’s-”

“Don’t you fucking-”

“God, who do you think I-”

“Okay, but seriously-”

“ _Yes_ , Stiles-”

“Fine, later.” Stiles finished their baffling half conversation by jabbing a finger at Scott, before he wandered off into the woods. Derek had no clue what had just happened.

His confusion must’ve been clear on his face, because Scott laughed, not a harsh sound, and crossed his arms. “Don’t worry about it.” He grinned.

Derek sighed. Fuck, whatever, he gave up.

“What do you want, Scott?”

Scott’s grin faded somewhat, and he shifted his weight slightly. Derek crossed his arms too, matching his posture.

“Look, okay, if this is gonna work, there’s a few things, right?” Scott didn’t look at Derek as he spoke, but he hesitated, and when Derek nodded, he continued. Good, he must’ve actually been working on his senses like he’d said he had.

“Okay, so, first- not criticising, just, pointers, I guess? Ugh. I don’t do well with being yelled at, or being given orders. By anyone who isn’t Stiles, I guess, he’s different. So, you know that now, and we can not talk about it.” Scott was scowling at a clump of trees, tension throughout his body.

Derek sighed, and thought of his mother. “I’m going to have to tell you what to do sometimes. That’s how this works. Especially when we’re fighting this… _thing_.”

“Yeah, I know.” Scott finally turned to look at him, and there, _that_ was who he wanted as his second. Who already was, really.

“I’ll-” Derek paused on a breath, and clenched one of his fists. “I’ll try.”

Forcing himself into the shape of the domineering, in control, commander alpha like he had had been an endless struggle all by itself, like taking the monster under his bed and forcing himself to _become_ it. It was habit, easily, and he knew without knowing that he snapped into it in times of crisis, but, well. What was it that Erica had said to Lydia a couple of days ago? Something about not aiming for perfect, because she’d always be dissatisfied.

“Also, you’re telling me more about this ‘second’ thing as soon as it’s not awful monster crunch time, yeah? Don’t make me ask Stiles, he’s drowning in research as it is.” Scott shifted, part stubborn and demanding, and part deep concern.

Derek nodded. Yeah, he saw it too, the trembling fingers and the bags under his eyes, and he expected Scott saw things that he didn’t know enough to pick up on himself.

“Speaking of Stiles!” Scott said, much more brightly, somehow still maintaining an air of spikiness, sharp teeth, a friendly knife. Derek jolted, and froze, and shit, he totally looked like a dog getting caught stealing from the trash, didn’t he? Fuck, and now it was _him_ making the dog jokes, even if they were just in his head.

Derek had read somewhere that a sense of impending doom could be a medical symptom. He wondered if that symptom suggested that someone was about to, well, face some sort of doom.

Scott laughed, the wicked sheen dropping away. “God, _okay_.”

Derek narrowed his eyes at him.

Scott just laughed again, and rolled his eyes. He got serious, after a moment, calm and certain. “The thing about Stiles is that he, like, imprints on people or something. Once he cares about you, you’re his, that’s it, no take-backsies.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “ _Imprints._ ” He deadpanned, somewhat pleased with how unimpressed it came out sounding.

“Yeah.” Scott shrugged. “Come up with a better word, I don’t care. Look, I know Stiles, better than anyone, his dad, hell, _himself_ , a lot of the time. You, me, Lydia, the rest of the pack-”

Derek’s hands shook slightly, and he crossed his arms tighter, hoping Scott didn’t notice. _Pack_. And that was not even mentioning _Stiles_.

“He broke in to check on our fire alarms, once.” Scott frowned, considering. “Still might do that, actually. I don’t even want to think about how much time he’s put into ‘making sure we’re safe’ instead of college work.” Scott even made the little air quotes with his fingers.

Derek had a brief flash of the image of Scott, having figured out the full shift, working as a therapy dog or using his fur and his cute little face to coax people into donating their life savings to charity. He wasn’t sure if he should teach him how to do it so he could watch, or never do it, to save all the poor innocents.

“Look,” Scott said, stepping forwards, closer to Derek. “All I’m saying is that he’s playing for keeps.”

Derek nodded slightly, unable to do anything else. That was everything he wanted, everything he didn’t dare to want. And if Stiles wanted it in the same way, wanted a forest full of wolves, armed to the teeth, as syncronised and in tune as if they were all the same beast, well. Derek wanted to run through the woods, whisper it to the old fallen tree, the little brook, the copse of birch, tell them a great joy, a potential, a promise, and let the leaves sing with it.

“So if you promise pack, and it turns into nothing, like before, I-” Scott cut himself off, shaking his head. “I can’t ruin your life the way Lydia might, and I’m a pacifist, but. Derek, if you promise him this and it doesn’t happen, I swear to god-”

Derek closed his eyes, keeping his breathing steady. “I understand.”

He wasn’t sure he would cope with it himself, if he was being honest, but, well, he’d had his world completely destroyed twice, now, and here he was. Derek was continually being surprised by just how much awful shit he could live through, clinging to the edge of the abyss, like a fucking cockroach.

After some griping and some reluctant trips to get various people changes of clothes from their houses, the pack finally all ended up back at Derek’s loft. Derek knew he couldn’t keep them all together, all in one place, all in _his_ place for long, but it made sense strategically, and hopefully they’d be able to deal with the looming threat before too long.

Stiles had gone back to his murderboard and the table that he’d completely taken over, recruiting the help of Isaac and Allison, shoving books and a laptop at Boyd and Scott. Derek retreated to the kitchen after an hour or so, where Lydia and Erica were also seemingly hiding out from the research-splosion. Which was what Stiles had taken to calling the disaster of Derek’s open-plan living space. He couldn’t even bring himself to be mad, which was the worst part.

“Holes!” Stiles yelled excitedly, from the other room. Derek glanced behind him, brows furrowed, and Erica snorted, swinging her feet where she was perched on his once-nice kitchen counter.

Lydia rolled her eyes, and shoved a mixing bowl that he absolutely did not remember owning into Derek’s arms. “Here, whisk.”

Derek blinked. “What?”

“You don’t have a stand mixer, so you’ll have to step in.” Lydia waved him off, and Derek found himself whisking without even meaning to.

“This isn’t a firebomb, right?” He asked, even though he was pretty sure firebombs didn’t require a whisk to make. Or a ‘stand mixer’, whatever that was. But then again, fuck if he knew, he’d never technically passed high school chemistry, and none of his college history classes had taught him about bomb making.

Lydia huffed, indignant. “Meringue. Different kind of chemistry.”

“You _could_ make me a cake that’s also a bomb, though, right?” Erica grinned, swiping a taste from Derek’s bowl, flipping him off when he bared his teeth at her.

Lydia hummed consideringly, reading the label of Derek’s bottle of shitty vegetable oil.

“If I ever need someone killed at a birthday party, I’ll put you two in charge.” Derek shook his head, shifting his grip on the bowl. He wasn’t sure the whisking was doing anything, but, again, what the hell did he know?

Erica tipped her head back and smiled at the ceiling, and Derek was pretty sure he’d fucked things up with her, but maybe there was still a chance to repair them.

“If you have a party of any kind, I expect to be in charge.” Lydia said, setting down the oil with a huff. “You really don’t cook, do you?”

He opened his mouth to defend himself- sure, he didn’t cook gourmet food or anything, but he could make pasta, fry some onions, normal stuff. Erica beat him to it, though, nudging Lydia with a toe. “Hey, he wouldn’t meet your standards even if he did.”

Lydia turned to smile at her, sly and almost predatory, and Derek wanted to bury his face in his hands. “That doesn’t mean it’s _okay_ to live like this.”

Derek whisked harder. Maybe that would save him, somehow. The implication that Lydia was sticking around finally twigged, and his hand stilled with the realisation. She could’ve left, had clearly planned to, and yet here she was, making jokes in his kitchen. And that couldn’t be passed off as Lydia being information hungry, either, so she was… Well, maybe not committed to the pack, he couldn’t infer that from a joke about party planning, but distinctly _not_ running from it either.

“Yeah?” Erica said, voice breathy, tipping up her chin.

Lydia stepped close into Erica’s space, and Derek had to say _something_ , at least. “So, I take it things are going well between you two?”

Lydia turned to look at him, one hand resting on Erica’s knee. “Honey, really? I guess Stiles must really be out of earshot, if you want to start relationship talk.”

Derek felt all the blood rush into his face, and Erica broke out into laughter.

“I regret every decision that led me here.” He grumbled, wincing when he saw Erica twitch and stop laughing. He bit his tongue so he couldn’t say anything more, couldn’t make it worse.

“Definitely not how I saw my future turning out.” Lydia brushed a hand across Erica’s jaw and stepped away, frowning at the bowl in Derek’s arms. “Come on, whisk! Those muscles aren’t just for show, right?”

“There we go.” She said, once he started whisking again. “We’ll get a good kitchen assistant out of you yet.”

“Kitchen assistant?” Erica swung her feet against the countertop. “He’s the _big bad alpha_.” She grinned, all fang and sarcasm.

“Yeah, but he’s not known for thinking, now is he?” Lydia looked back at him, and then checked on the oven. “So you better remember to tell me all your stupid plans, I swear to god, Derek.”

Derek sucked in a breath at that, nodding, unable to forget how close he’d come to killing her based off of too little evidence. But beneath her words was still the assumption of a future, of her being around for more of his stupid plans, of her having input. The casualness of it almost took his breath away.

After several more hours of everyone rattling around Derek’s loft, or, in Stiles’ case, whirling between people and various reference materials, it was safe to say that everyone was feeling a little cooped up. Lydia’s cupcakes had been gobbled up, and she’d brushed it off, but Derek had seen her tiny smile when Isaac and Scott had praised them as the best thing they’ve ever eaten.

When Scott started getting snappy, short bursts of anger at whoever came close, usually Isaac, Derek figured he should step in.

He stood up, carefully setting down the book he’d been reading (a historical account of a revenant that Lydia had said was particularly unusual) and folded his arms across his chest.

“I’m going on a patrol.” The pack looked up, and Derek glanced around them, quickly trying to work out who should come and who should stay. Stiles, obviously, would stay, and probably Scott, too, who would take charge well in an emergency. Isaac was looking a little queasy, probably from spending hours on end flipping through autopsy photos, so the fresh air would do him good. “Isaac, Erica, you’re with me, and either Allison or Boyd, whichever one of you wants to come.”

Scott tilted his head at him, and Derek nodded. Scott’s shoulders shifted, a different set to them, enough of a change that Derek knew that Scott had accepted the unspoken responsibility gladly. Good. His family had made jokes about his mother and her second sharing a telepathic bond, and Derek doubted that he and Scott would ever get to that level, but this was good. He was pretty sure he could feel Scott more clearly through the pack bond, too, bursting over the rot that soaked through everything.

In the time it took to figure that out, Allison and Boyd had apparently had an entire silent conversation of nods and aborted movements, which was interesting and somewhat unexpected, but Allison settled down next to Scott, extending a hand to take the papers he was holding.

So Derek and his three bitten betas headed out of the loft, Erica making the decision for the rest of them to take the stairs, because she “needed the exercise”. Derek was pretty sure she exercised plenty, even without the werewolf thing, but it wasn’t a bad idea, either.

She rolled her eyes when Derek asked her to take point upon reaching the treeline, but did it anyway. Lydia seemed to be softening her, a little, but Derek couldn’t rely on that, not to keep the pack together, and not to keep Erica doing what he needed her to. But, well, this situation was temporary, so maybe he wouldn’t need to do anything.

They loped through the woods, on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, senses straining for anything unusual. The sun hadn’t set yet, wouldn’t for a while, despite the late hour. Ah, California summers.

He threw up a hand, whispered “Wait,” and then, when they all stopped, added “Deer.”

Erica relaxed slightly from her wary stance, no longer ready to pounce, and Isaac cocked his head, clearly listening.

“Six heartbeats.” Isaac said, flicking his eyes over to Derek and then away. Boyd nodded, and Derek let himself smile, squeezing Isaac’s shoulder.

“Adorable.” Erica’s tone, her scent, softened her words a little, the sarcasm less cutting than it could’ve been. “Can we get going?”

Derek nodded, and she was off, back to stepping around trees and peering out into the sparsely populated outskirts of the city with glowing eyes.

They’d gone a decent way by the time they stopped again, this time because of Erica.

“There’s something wrong here.” She said, wary, confused.

Derek let his senses roll out, focusing on the distance so hard he almost didn’t catch Isaac’s little intake of breath.

“Isaac?” Boyd rumbled quietly.

“The graveyard.” He breathed. Derek blinked, and Erica flicked a hand, starting to creep forwards.

Erica’s steps were sure, careful, a hand bent out behind her in caution, and Derek’s wolf _howled_ with satisfaction as they fell in behind her, Isaac and Boyd fanning out to each side, Derek bringing up the rear, making sure he kept all of them in his sight.

The graveyard was quiet, empty this time of day, and Erica led them out into it, catching a branch and holding it out of Isaac’s way as they crept in from the woods. Out here, there were only a few graves, quiet and out of the way, and Derek scanned their surroundings right as Isaac stiffened. Isaac held up a hand and pointed at himself, then further inwards, heading across the grass. Erica flashed her eyes at him, and they crept forward.

Derek pressed a hand against Boyd’s back to get his attention, and then signalled him to pull out his phone, hoping that he’d call one of the others back at his loft. Boyd nodded, and Derek watched his back as he did so, after clearly flicking his phone to its quietest settings.

“Derek?” Erica called, a whisper. “Callie Hayes’ grave is empty.”

Derek’s head snapped over to her, and he nudged Boyd forwards until they could see what they were both looking at. He stared down at the grave, tuning out Boyd telling- Scott, so he must’ve caught that Scott was in charge- where they were and that something was up.

The grave was, in fact, empty, and Isaac hopped down into it after a second, stepping lightly on the edges of the empty coffin. “It’s been torn up, from the inside.” He said, gleaming gold eyes turning up to look at Derek.

He pulled in a breath through his teeth, and nodded. “Okay-” He said, and then Erica, who had drifted away, checking on the other nearby graves, let out a yelp of pain.

Derek snapped upright, springing towards her, blood running cold when the monster bared its teeth at him, dripping and covered in mangled rotten meat. Erica lunged at it, pulling her hand away from the back of her neck, but she came up short as it sprung away, claws digging into the headstone it had perched on after attacking her.

“Boyd, with Isaac.” He snapped, not having the time to care about how it sounded. Erica was staring at him with wide eyes, and he didn't realise for a costly couple of seconds, but her hands weren’t extending into claws, eyes not the shining gold of a wolf.

“Shit,” he hissed, right as Isaac snarled behind him, and he whirled around just in time to see Boyd tossed to one side, hitting the ground with a crunch, huge red wounds opening up on Isaac’s arms, which he must’ve thrown up to defend himself. It worried him, sometimes, how used to defending himself from attack Isaac was.

Erica panted for breath, letting out a worried sounding “Derek?” and his eyes gleamed red, the partial shift shivering across his skin. He snarled, bracing himself, watching the monster dash between headstones. It looped around, and- _there_ \- right before it made another pass at Isaac, he leapt, sinking his claws into its stomach, sending them both flying off course.

Isaac was beside him after a second, swiping out with his claws, but Derek hadn’t expected him to be there, so it was him who ended up catching the brunt of Isaac’s attack, not the creature, who took the opportunity to sink its teeth into Derek’s shoulder, before springing away.

“Fuck-” Isaac yelped, his scent spiking sour with adrenaline and guilt, and Derek just shook his head.

“Boyd?” He called, resting a hand on Isaac’s chest to back him up, even as his shoulder _screamed_ with agony, his healing struggling against the ragged, torn flesh. He didn’t even want to think about what kind of infections were in that mouth, on those teeth.

Boyd grunted, and good, he was up and moving, already coming to Erica’s side.

“Come here, asshole, lemme deck you!” Erica yelled, her back to Boyd.

Derek flashed his eyes at her. “No. Get us out of here.”

Erica met his eyes, which were probably as wide and wild as hers, and nodded, visibly forcing down some of the fear. God, if she was going through what had happened to him, that night alone in the woods, then she was working through it notably better than he had.

She led them carefully towards one edge of the graveyard that faced onto an old industrial park, and the creature lunged again, this time clearly targeting Erica. Derek threw himself in the way, and this time Isaac’s strike hit true, shredding into one of the creature’s hind legs even as it tore Derek open, catching on the wound on his shoulder and pulling down, and shit, that was a vein it snagged.

He pressed down onto it, begging his healing to hurry up, because the monster was circling back around, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to take the next hit too, rather than let one of his betas get hurt worse than they already were.

Erica flung herself over the wood fence, springing straight to the top of the adjacent chain one with a clatter, right as Isaac hissed a warning.

“Go.” Derek snarled, launching himself at the monster, right at its rotten, sunken-swollen face. If zombie movies had looked like this, they’d never have taken off, he found himself thinking, even as it tossed him away, his wounded shoulder wrenching, undoing half the healing his body had already managed.

The fence rattled again, twice, and Derek let himself feel the relief, even though there was no guarantee they wouldn't be pursued past it. It was something, at least, the start of a valuable retreat. Scott knew where they were, too, and was hopefully scrambling everyone, headed their way.

Derek braced himself for the next hit, watching the foul creature spring around gravestones, and then a brick was flying in its direction.

“Come on!” Erica yelled, and another brick hit it right in the head, probably from Isaac, he’d always had the better aim, likely thanks to years of lacrosse.

He didn’t waste a second, pulling on the alpha speed he was still only just getting used to and launching himself towards his pack, and then they were running, Erica at the forefront again, this time because she was the slowest, without her wolf, and so she had to set their pace.

Derek kept his ears open, constantly glancing behind himself, but they didn’t seem to be being followed. He kept his hand pressed to the gash running from his shoulder to his midsection, until he was sure the ruptured vein had finally sealed itself, and then a little while longer, just to be sure he wouldn’t tear the thing back open again.

They were nearly back at the loft when Erica sighed in relief, turning her head and flashing her eyes gold so they could see. Derek matched her sigh, and, taking in the slight trembling in her hands, nodded at Isaac and Boyd to go onwards. He slowed to a walk, catching Erica by the wrist until she matched his pace.

“Hey,” He said, for lack of anything better.

Erica shuddered, forcing it through her body, her pulse racing under Derek’s fingers.

“I-” She whispered, and Derek pulled her to him, draping his hand around her shoulders.

“Yeah.” He breathed, relieved when her heart rate began to slow.

“I just, what if I- if it takes the werewolf away, what if I have a seizure? Like they were building up in me, and the second-” Erica cut herself off, slowing to a stop and squishing her face into Derek’s shoulder, which hurt like hell, being the wounded one, but Derek pushed the pain away, ignoring it resolutely.

There was a hint of horror trembling down the tenuous pack bond, and Derek squeezed her tighter. “You’re still a wolf. And you weren’t alone.”

There was more he should say, he knew, always more that he should be saying but didn’t have the words for, couldn’t force himself to verbalise. Instead, he squeezed Erica tighter, resting his chin on her head. He could barely smell anything over all the blood and fear, but under that was Erica, a comfort, despite the distance, the hostility that he was sure was his fault, somehow. Not even in a self-hating way, just in a wildly inexperienced alpha way.

They were just getting back to the loft as the others were leaving, armed and dangerous and clearly worried half out their minds. Derek accepted Scott’s help getting him and Erica back up the stairs, Stiles skittering ahead and opening doors. Stiles suggested the elevator, but Derek’s skin crawled at the idea of being enclosed like that, and Erica shook her head, presumably for the same reason.

Once they were inside, the door shut behind them, Allison the last one in with her crossbow still out, Derek helped Erica lie on one of the sofas and went to root out his little first aid kit. He almost hadn’t bought one, when he’d moved in, but it had only been a few months after summer had ended, and back then, he hadn’t known if any of the pack would come back over their breaks, or if any of the human pack would. He certainly wouldn’t have bought one if he knew it was just going to be him rattling about in the open plan loft.

He handed it to Scott in case he needed it to patch up Erica, or either of the others, for that matter. Their healing should be taking good care of it, but what did he know?

Stiles caught him with a hand on his shoulder, the uninjured one, and tilted his head towards the stairs, the bathroom.

“What?”

“Gotta get you cleaned up, dude.” Stiles said, looking away. Derek sighed and went to the kitchen instead, tugging off his shirt and turning on the sink.

The shirt was probably ruined, but that was no loss, far from the first he’d had to toss away after getting attacked by something. Stiles stepped in close behind him, close enough to touch, and then, he was, fingers tracing by the edges of the bite mark, the slashes cutting into the edges of it, the blood smeared all over Derek’s skin.

Derek shrugged, looked at the torn, bloody shirt in his hand, and then held it under the water, getting it soaked. The water was pink, but he didn’t bother waiting for it to run clear, bringing it up to wipe away some of the grime.

“It’s fine.” He said, and damn, he’d meant for that to come out more forceful than soft.

“Derek, that is a shit ton of blood.” Stiles pushed between him and the sink, turning Derek so he could look at his shoulder, his chest.

“Vein, not an artery.”

Stiles blinked at him, mouth open. After a long incredulous stare, he shook his head. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that and go get something to disinfect… _that_.”

Derek watched as Stiles walked back out of the kitchen, head jerking when he heard a phone go off.

“Sorry, it’s my dad, I have to take this. Is there somewhere I can-” Allison asked from the other room, likely directing the question at Scott, or hell, maybe even Derek in the kitchen, anticipating that he could hear everything going on in there.

He raised his voice. “Upstairs.”

There were footsteps, the soft clanging of the stairs, and then the sound of Allison quietly answering her phone. Stiles came back in with a packet of disinfectant wipes that Derek absolutely did not own, and he tilted his head in question.

“Lydia.” Stiles offered as an explanation. “Now move over, gimme some room to work.”

Derek gritted his teeth through the stinging, watching the quiet focus on Stiles’ face. His body could handle infection easily, sure, and the wounds were halfway to healed already, but he had no fucking clue what gross shit was in the mouth of their monster, so this wasn’t even a bad idea.

What probably _was_ a bad idea was the way he found himself leaning into Stiles’ touch, the hand braced on his shoulder while Stiles dabbed at the wounds. Derek was sagging into it, after a minute, almost melting, despite the stinging pain and the crawling sensation of flesh knitting itself back together.

Stiles looked up at him, and Derek’s eyes involuntarily and inexplicably flashed red, which somehow was reason enough for Stiles to grin goofily at him. Derek’s breath caught, and the other wolves would easily hear the skip in his heartbeat, but he just curled a hand loosely around Stiles’ back, keeping him close, even though he didn’t seem to want to go anywhere.

Stiles tilted his head closer, and Derek matched his movement, the whole world going still and silent, the chatter of pack in the other room and the sink running behind him and the cars outside all going quiet, everything down to their two heartbeats, racing but somehow certain. He couldn’t look away from Stiles’ mouth.

The stairs clanged, and Allison’s voice rung out from the top of them. “Derek? We might have a problem.”

Stiles didn’t exactly spring away from Derek like they’d been caught red-handed, but, well, his hands _were_ slightly red from all the blood. He washed them off, nudging his hip against Derek and watching as he walked off to see what was up with Allison.

Well shit, that had almost happened.

Okay, game face. He splashed water on his face, slapping his hands against his cheeks a few times for good measure, and then followed Derek back to the main room, snagging a pad of paper and a pen on his way.

“Okay,” Allison said, turning her phone around and around in her hands. “So the local hunters, a guy named Callaghan, they found the body in the woods, and Boyd’s phone in the graveyard.”

Stiles scrawled that all down, ignoring the sick twist in his stomach. Having Boyd be on the phone with Scott only to suddenly stop talking and start making fight sounds, or at least, that’s what Scott described them as- that had fucking _sucked ass_. Major ass. So much ass. He blinked down at the paper and stopped himself halfway through doodling an ass.

And hey, _there_ was something worse than that dropped phone call had been- Derek stiffening across from him, hands curling into fists.

“We need to talk to them, at least so they stop thinking it’s us.” Allison said, sneaking glances at Derek, at Scott. “I can set up a meeting, or-”

Derek was already stalking out the room, bare chest still slightly bloodstained where Stiles hadn’t gotten round to cleaning, shoulders set too tense to be comfortable. The front door clanged shut behind him, too loud.

“Shit.” Stiles breathed, reaching over for his laptop. Erica lifted it up, and he made grabby hands, grateful, but she just moved it further away, snapping the lid shut.

“What?” He said, frowning. He needed to pull up information on this hunter, his guys, and what their whole deal was. Also there was still an _enormous_ amount of unique revenant type monsters he needed to rule in or out.

Stiles looked up, and everyone was looking at him, varying degrees of pointedly. He made a face at Scott, who raised his eyebrows back, unhelpfully. There wasn’t really a facial expression for ‘look, not everything’s obvious, Scott’ combined with ‘what’s the fucking deal’, so instead he just turned to Lydia. Lydia would know, and she’d be harsh and ironic, but that was better than Scott and his stupid werewolf eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes at him and looked endlessly disappointed. “Go talk to him.”

“What- I’ve gotta do research- why me?” Stiles spluttered, waving his pen around.

“Honey, you’re not the only one who can Facebook stalk someone.” Lydia sighed, holding her hand out, and Isaac popped up with her laptop, handing it to her.

Stiles stared for a minute, and Erica kicked at him. “Go talk to our illustrious leader, Stilinski.”

He threw his hands up, glancing around the room, not getting any sympathy or explanation. “Fuck, okay.”

Stiles snagged a hoodie off the pile on the floor on his way out of the loft, letting the door swing shut behind him and frowning at the stairs. He didn’t know which way Derek had gone, and he didn’t have any special wolfy hearing or sniffing to give him clues, but as he looked at the stairs going up and down, something twanged inside of him.

Okay, upstairs first, then.

The door to the roof stuck a little, squealing when Stiles shoved it open, but once he had, there was Derek, his back to a little wall, face pressed into his curled up knees.

“Hey,” Stiles said, even though Derek had to have heard him coming. He walked up to him, and held out the hoodie, one of Scott’s, he thought. “Here.”

Derek blinked up at him, eyes narrowed, but it was kinda cold up here, so he took the hoodie. Stiles didn’t wait for him to have it on before he flopped down beside Derek, pressing their sides together. It was totally just because it felt weird to be stood over him, not at all because he enjoyed being close to Derek. None of that.

He let the air hang, for a little while, a quiet summer breeze drifting over them, stronger this high up. Stiles forced himself not to think about quite how high up they were.

“She said we, you know.” He said, finally, not entirely sure why, but knowing it was right.

Derek grunted beside him, but didn’t say anything else.

“We’ve dealt with hunters before, me and Scott and Allison, and you, too.”

Stiles tipped his head back when Derek still didn’t say anything and sighed. “They fuckin _all_ sent me up here, you know. As if _I’m_ our best shot at like, talking people down or something. If you were having a panic attack I probably would’ve tossed the hoodie at you, and if that didn’t break you out of it, I don’t know, bundled you up in it like you were some bird who fell asleep whenever a blanket was put over its cage.”

Derek snorted at that, raising an eyebrow at Stiles.

“Hey, having a bunch of them doesn’t make me an expert, okay? It just makes me a fuckin wreck.” Stiles tapped his fingers on his knees, and then on Derek’s. “Nobody here’s gonna turn on you, especially for some weird guy we don’t know. Unless he’s secretly got Scott’s mom hostage, which I don’t think he does. We can check.”

Derek sighed out a shaky breath, watching Stiles’ fingers tap across both of their legs.

“I’m not mad at Scott for Gerard.” He said, finally, surprising Stiles.

“Yeah?”

“It was a good play. He’s good at finding alternatives where there are none.”

“Shit, that’s my Scotty. Would’ve liked him to like, fucking _tell me_ what was going on, but you can’t expect the guy to be perfect, you know?”

Derek hummed and tilted his head slightly, glancing at Stiles.

“So.” Stiles sucked in a breath, hooking his fingers around Derek’s wrist, tracing the delicate skin there. “We’re gonna go back inside, and you’re gonna tell us everything about this guy, and we’re going to come up with a plan. We get the hunters out of the way before they even become a problem, all efficient-like, and then we sit down and figure out how we kill these things.”

Derek’s next breath was shuddery, and he turned his head to look at Stiles properly. “Okay.” He said, visibly trying to pull himself together.

Stiles smiled, and Derek smiled back, and fuck it. Fuck it _all_ , they were gonna come out of the other end of this, and what would happen then, he didn’t know, but he had this, at least.

“Also!” He said, wrapping a hand around the back of Derek’s neck, tugging him closer. “Also, this.”

And then Stiles kissed him, soft and a little wind-chilled and slightly shaky from the earlier panic, but just perfect, just right, nonetheless. He pulled back, and Derek was smiling at him, a small delicate thing, and then he tilted his head until Stiles’ hand slid to the side of his neck instead.

Stiles didn’t breathe, just brushed his thumb gently across Derek’s throat until his hand was stretched across it, life and blood and air trembling beneath his fingers, his palm. “Okay,” Stiles breathed against Derek’s lips, shaky beyond belief, sounding as punched out as he felt. “Okay.”

And he kissed him again, Derek leaning into him, his pulse trembling under Stiles’ thumb as their lips brushed together. Stiles felt transfixed, like he had somehow been transmuted into a totally different person, like all his life had led up to this, to sharing delicate, almost chase kisses with Derek on a rooftop.

It was so easy, like this, natural, Derek humming against him, sturdy and alive and deliberately, achingly vulnerable. And god, Stiles _wanted_.

“So!” Stiles clapped his hands, looking around Derek’s loft. Man, it was a mess. Papers and books everywhere. “How’re we doing this, kiddos?”

Isaac raised his eyebrows at him. Stiles pulled a face back.

“Allison’s gotta be there, she knows all the hunter stuff.” Scott pitched in, eyes fixed on Allison’s hands, which were fidgeting with her phone.

“We’re all going.” Derek cut in, looking steady as Stiles had ever seen him, as if he hadn’t just panicked out of his mind and gone to hide on the roof. As if Stiles hadn’t just kissed him. “But yeah, Allison. I want a smaller group to actually talk to them, everyone else in the trees.”

Lydia looked up, eyes narrowed. “I’m not climbing a tree for you, alpha or not.”

“You’ll be able to tell us what they’re making of everything?” Erica turned to Allison, ignoring Lydia’s comment aside from a small smile.

Allison nodded and shrugged. “I’m not like, a _real_ hunter-”

“Which is a good thing.” Isaac interrupted, and at Allison’s look, he threw his hands up for her to continue.

“But I should be able to work it out.” Allison finished, offering Isaac a tentative smile.

“Boyd.” Lydia said, and Stiles blinked at her. At his confused look, she sighed.

“What?” He frowned, fidgeting.

She directed her answer to Derek, ignoring Stiles. “It’s going to be you, Allison, probably Stiles, and you want Boyd too.”

“What, as muscle?” Boyd rumbled, but Stiles was a little caught up in how he was apparently already included in their little hunter-talking group. Hopefully nobody would kill him for the inevitable foot-swallowing he was bound to do.

Lydia sighed again. “No, because you’re the most perceptive out of all of us.”

“Discounting you, obviously,” Stiles said without thinking, and then waved his hands around in what he hoped was a ‘please don’t kill me I have no control over my mouth’ kind of way. Isaac caught his hand before it could whack him in the face.

Stiles nodded after a moment, though. “You’re right. If I’m coming too, and we want to keep the group split even-ish, then it needs to be one of the wolves. Hell, if we were talking to a pack, I’m not sure a half-human negotiation group would fly. Unless I pretend to be a werewolf.”

Boyd shook his head at Stiles, bemused. “They’d make you in a second.”

Derek cut in, looking almost fond, beneath all the stern perma-angry-face. “Run us through what we have, and we’ll sort out what we’re telling them.”

Stiles nodded, and Scott tossed him his laptop, nearly killing him and Isaac both in the resulting flail-tastrophe.

“Okay,” he said once there was no longer any risk of death by flying electronics, pulling his laptop open. “At least two perps, though I wouldn’t put money against there being three. Five known supernatural victims, three possible supernatural victims, and four or so humans. Give or take a few, and in roughly reverse order, so the humans died first.”

Stiles tipped his head at Isaac, blindly reaching for the notes he’d been helpfully making for him. “Power-stealing, obviously, sat on the guy’s chest like a hag-” He paused to grin at Derek, who rolled his eyes at him. Yeah, hags were totally real, he’d prove it one day. Or maybe hopefully not. Whatever. “Claws, springy jumpy predator type, some gross ass fangs, grosser than the grossest zombie. Hayes’ empty grave, which might change things, I don’t know.. And then there’s the _decay_.”

“The guy in the woods was too far along in decomposition for someone who died literally a minute before we got there.” Isaac said, eyes flickering around the room, unsettled. Scott squeezed his shoulder and he seemed to relax a little, and okay, Stiles was still feeling a little territorial of his best friend, but even still, that touch was good, important.

“Also, we don’t got shit in terms of details, but they definitely had diseases they shouldn’t have. One of the human victims- the coroner wrote it off as an unrelated tumour- but I swear to fuck it was a buboe, like the literal Plague.” Stiles considered pulling up a photo to demonstrate, but decided against it when he saw Scott’s wrinkled nose. Yeah, that was probably fair.

He was probably a little too desensitised to photos of dead people and their gross stuff, or hell, maybe desensitised wasn’t even the right word- Isaac sure as hell would be that, but even he’d been looking queasy right before Derek took them out wandering in the woods. But like, there was no time for being grossed out, no time for tact, every second wasted a second that could’ve led him to the answer that would protect his pack.

“Okay,” Allison nodded. “We tell them the victims we’re sure of, or at least just the numbers-” she glanced at Derek, waiting for him to tilt his head in approval before continuing. “Describe what it looks like, how it fights, maybe that we think it’s some kind of revenant, if they’re playing nice.”

“They won’t be.” Derek said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And the power-stealing?” Stiles asked, trying to mentally file information into useful categories.

“That’s not getting out.” Derek answered, and Erica tensed, shifting slightly closer to Lydia.

Stiles nodded, adding that to his mental filing cabinet of doom.

“Allison?” Boyd cut in, voice quiet. Stiles looked over to her, and saw her looking uncertain, biting her lip.

“It’s the most unique trait we have.” She said, glancing up at Derek and then away. Stiles could feel Scott tense behind him, presumably gearing up to defend her from him or something, and Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek in what he hoped was a clear warning.

Derek just sighed.

“It’s not a helpful one.” Stiles offered, shrugging when the pack looked at him. “There’s never really much information on how supernatural creatures kill each other, okay? You think any bestiary mentions what happens if like, a werewolf bites a pixie? It’s all what they do to humans, usually pre-internet or pre-industrial revolution ones, that kind of stuff.”

Though… hm. What if their culprit was the undead version of some other creature? He tuned out the rest of the conversation, wiggling up from the couch and towards the pile of books at the base of Derek’s bookshelf. What, leaving them there was close to putting them away, okay?

He was pretty sure there was something in one of these, though, that he remembered from the middle of the night sometime, something he’d read recently enough to have been in Derek’s loft. Something about vampires having been witches or werewolves or something while they were alive? Which was far from obviously useful, but it was sticking in his brain, like a hook. A meat hook. Like the ones great big dead pigs were hung up on. Okay, maybe the amount of pictures of dead people he’d looked at _was_ getting to him, after all.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice was right behind him, and it was a good thing he’d spoken _before_ putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, because Stiles jumped out of his skin as it was, and he didn’t think hitting Derek in the face with an ancient tome was a good idea for however it was that their relationship was developing. Which meant he was thinking about that kiss again, and Derek could clearly hear the skip in his heartbeat and guess _what_ he was thinking about, because he smiled.

“Yeah?” Stiles’ voice was a little high, and Derek just raised his eyebrows.

“Come on, we’re going to go meet the hunters.” Derek slid his hand down Stiles’ shoulder, his arm, finally settling circled around his wrist. “And then you’re going to get some _sleep_.”

“Yeah, you gonna make me?” Stiles grinned, bumping into Derek and starting to head out, the hand on his wrist meaning Derek was tugged along too.

“If I have to.” Derek responded, a teasing edge to his tone. Stiles grinned at him, feeling something warm settle inside him, despite all the tiredness and fear and feeling of creeping rot.

“You’ve got this.” Derek said to Scott once everyone else was in various cars. “Keep everyone in line, under control, but don’t worry about them knowing you’re out there.”

Scott nodded, serious. “Gotcha.”

Derek clapped a hand on his shoulder, and then climbed into the Camaro, glancing over at Allison in the front seat, and Stiles and Boyd in the back. Stiles had gone back to muttering to himself, apparently, snapping his fingers and scrolling through something on his phone.

Derek internally shrugged and started the car, pulling out without bothering to see if the others were following.

After a minute of surprisingly not tense driving, considering he was sat next to an Argent in his car for probably the first time since he was 15 and Kate- yeah, no.

“Shit,” Stiles said, loud enough to be actual words. He bumped into the back of Derek’s seat, and Derek bit back a grumble. “Shit, fuck, okay- Callie Hayes’ grave being empty plus an extra monster can only add up to one thing, right?”

Allison sucked in a breath beside Derek, her posture shifting, like a steel rod in her spine. Derek was pretty sure he’d done the same.

“So it’s able to turn its victims, then. But not all of them?” Allison frowned, and Derek caught her checking on her knives, the crossbow in her lap, and somehow felt almost reassured by it. Well, she _had_ made a semi-formal offer, and the posturing, and, well. Yeah, Allison was pack, at least for the duration of this shitshow.

“That might narrow it down somewhat, if Hayes has been changed and the rest haven’t.” Stiles said, and when Derek glanced behind him to check he was clear to make a turn, Stiles was tugging his hands through his hair.

Derek narrowed his eyes at the road ahead of him. “Look into it, when we get back. But we’re not telling Callahan.” Hayes had been a wolf, a quiet one, one he hadn’t even noticed living on the barest outskirts of the city, and he didn’t want to think about what the hunters would do if they handed them a suspicion that she was a culprit.

Allison nodded. “If they’re smart, they might be able to put it together, if we keep her in the victim list, but I don’t think they are. _Gerard_ would’ve, but he’s dead, and we’re all better for it.”

Derek felt himself shiver at her ragged tone, reaching out a hand to touch her, to offer some sort of comfort. Boyd was already on it, though, reaching forwards to put a hand on her upper arm, and Derek felt like pinning the moment on his fridge, like his mom had with every scrap of art that made it home from any of the pack kids.

Derek nodded, putting both hands back on the wheel. They were nearing the part of the woods that Allison had told Callaghan to meet them at.

He slowed the car, tugging on his awareness of the pack bond, growing stronger practically by the minute. They weren’t far behind, so he didn’t hesitate to pull over, giving a nod before getting out.

Stiles, for his part, tumbled out in a tangle of limbs, and Derek couldn’t help but smile as he caught his arm, keeping him somewhat upright. Derek glanced up and down him, taking in the smeared ink and too big button down and the messy bundle of papers folded into the notebook in his arms.

He leaned closer, hopefully in a way that could still read as him steadying his ungraceful packmate, and murmured into Stiles’ ear. “They’re going to underestimate you.” Stiles jolted, pressing closer still, and Derek rubbed their cheeks together. “Don’t be afraid to make them pay.”

Derek stepped away at that, enjoying the way Stiles looked both flustered and hungry, half-feral. Wolf-like.

“That goes for all of you.” He added, glancing at Boyd and Allison, still quiet, half under his breath. They’d hear him. The hunters wouldn’t.

Boyd nodded, and they fell in step together, following the little stream that would lead them to their meeting point. Distantly, Derek could hear everyone else arriving behind them, and glanced at Boyd, who tilted his head minutely in confirmation. Good, he’d heard them too.

Callaghan, as ever, was a dick. Not a particularly good hunter, at least in comparison to the ones Derek had had to deal with in his lifetime, but a raging asshole nonetheless.

He’d barely stepped into the clearing, Allison at one shoulder, Boyd at the other, along with Stiles, when Callaghan opened his mouth.

“One of your wolves is killing people.” He said, sounding decidedly smug about it. Derek _glared_. He didn’t want to fucking _be here_.

A growl built in his chest as they actually crossed into the clearing, and it was only a lifetime of controlling the shift that was keeping him human-faced.

Beside him, Allison sighed. “We both know it’s not wolves doing this.” She brushed her arm against Derek’s, and he forced himself to relax. Even Kate hadn’t pretended to stand up for the pack, offer her hunter prowess, as part of getting close to him. Granted, that had been because he hadn’t known she was a hunter and the second the pack saw her, they’d’ve known what was up, but still. If Allison was trying to get close like her aunt had, well, there was no need to try this hard. He didn’t need this much effort to be brought down.

A spark of delight from the pack bond pulled him out of his head, and he glanced at Stiles, who was poorly stifling a grin. Okay, focus on how they had an Argent on their side, not on everything that had come before. Derek could do that.

“Then what is it?” Callaghan asked, eyebrows raised, incredulous.

“Unknown.” Derek answered, tipping his chin up in challenge.

The hunters behind Callaghan shifted and exchanged glances, but Derek kept his eyes locked squarely on Callaghan’s face.

“So you’re _not_ sure it’s not one of yours, then.”

Derek growled, and again, Allison spoke up. “Sorry, are you suggesting I don’t know the difference between a werewolf kill and something else?”

He let himself grin at _that_ , toothy, smug, and threatening. Shit, Allison was good.

Callaghan shrugged, and Allison shifted her weight, sounding positively delighted when she waved a hand and introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Allison Argent. I, like all of us, know werewolves. Know their kills.”

Derek’s grin only widened as he took in Callaghan’s slight shift in posture, attitude.

“I can assure you, this was no werewolf.” Allison’s smile never faltered, seeping confidence in the set of her shoulders. “Stared it right down my sights, several times, too.”

“So why’s it not dead?” One of the hunters smirked, a huge man with a rifle slung over his shoulders. He gave Allison a very obvious once-over, and Derek bit back a snarl.

He chose to ignore the guy, though, and just get on with what they needed to do. “It’s some kind of humanoid, looks dead, claws and fangs, something of an ambush predator.” Derek looked away, nodding at Stiles. “Stiles, run the guy through it.”

Stiles grinned and did a little half bow, stepping forwards and fumbling with his notebook. Derek listened to the hunters’ heartbeats as Stiles started listing off victims, first in order of certainty and then again, in the order that they were killed. They spiked a few times, first at the name of the crocotta who’d been killed, and then at two of their potential victims with supernatural links, which practically confirmed those. Not particularly helpful, but good to know.

The hunters didn’t seem very impressed with Stiles, how he looked every bit the overtired research grunt, and judging by the minute shift in the way Boyd’s arms were crossed over his chest, he’d noticed it too.

“Definitely not a wolf, then?” Callaghan interrupted Stiles, who just laughed.

“Buddy,” He began, winding up with an electric grin that Derek honestly wanted to taste. “There’s no fuckin’ way. Firstly, no-one’s timeline matches up, not even if you put the whole pack together. All accounted for, at college or work or whatever. Full alibis.”

Derek blinked. Stiles’ heartbeat was completely steady, certain, so he must’ve sat down and built a timeline for each of them from what he already knew of their whereabouts. Smart, considering everything with Jackson and the Kanima. He idly wondered if Stiles had done the same for Peter, but was distracted when Stiles kept talking.

“Secondly, fuck you, and _thirdly_ ,” Stiles grinned, rocking back on his heels and glancing back at Derek. “We’ve been on the buddy system for days now, nobody’s been alone for even a minute, and yes, the sexual frustration is up to _here_.” Derek just watched as Stiles gestured, unable to not. “It’s a special fucking hell, okay, and I don’t even have magic wolf ears that can sense lust, or whatever.”

Derek barely resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands, and from the look on Stiles’ face when he glanced back, he could tell.

“So yeah, not one of the pack. My money’s on a revenant of some sort. We done?”

Derek tore his eyes away from Stiles to look at Callaghan, who was equal measures furious and baffled.

“Shit, Hale, you really do got the kids back for the holidays, don’t you?” The big guy from earlier snorted. “You trade your weekends for summers or some shit? How long’ve you got?”

Derek flinched, covering it up with a snarl, which he let drag on to buy him time to work out how in the hell to respond. A joke, sure, but an open challenge too, and even if this wasn’t inter-pack relations, posturing still mattered a hell of a lot.

“Blonde,” Boyd breathed beside him, barely audible, and Derek was confused for all of a second before a small throwing knife whizzed past the face of the only blonde hunter besides Callaghan, who wasn’t even the one who’d spoken, and Allison was stepping back, clearly having thrown it. Boyd smiled at her, and the blonde hunter looked terrified half out of his mind. Good call.

“Shut the fuck up!” Allison said, brightly, and Derek couldn't fully suppress the tiny burst of laughter.

The blonde guy looked somewhat like he might have a heart attack, and Derek grinned. Boyd shifted beside him, stepping forwards slightly and drawing up his bulk, letting intimidation flow across every line of his posture. “Shall we get back on track?”

Shit, Derek was so glad Boyd had accepted the bite, that he was still sticking around.

“You have anything else?” Callaghan asked, shooting a narrow-eyed glance at the asshole with the rifle.

“Just the cause of death, right?” Allison’s smile dripped threat, somehow sugar-sweet and just as sharp, and Derek was surprised to find out that it didn’t get his hackles up, not in the slightest.

“Well, that’s a doozy.” Stiles grinned back at her, and then dramatically flipped a page in his notebook, to where a printout summary of coroners reports and autopsies had been haphazardly tucked. “Officially, disease or heart attack, but there’s also bruises on the chest, weird cuts on the back of the neck, diseases that they _should not have had_ , oh, and also a fun little thing where they’re way too decomposed for their time of death. You know, the fun stuff!”

“Uh huh.” Callaghan grunted, one of his guys clearly typing up notes on his phone.

“We done here?” Derek asked, eyebrows raised.

“I-” Callaghan started, but to his surprise, and honestly, to Derek’s too, Stiles cut him off.

“Yeah, we’re done.” Stiles waved a hand in Callaghan’s direction. “You got anything, you call me, yeah baby?”

Derek blinked at Stiles for a moment and then shook his head, fond.

“Why you, not your alpha? Unless he isn’t _actually_ alpha.” The asshole spoke up again, grinning cruelly at Derek.

“Oh, Derek? He’s got better shit to do than talk to you, Joseph.”

“What?” The guy growled, resettling his grip on his rifle.

Stiles’ heartbeat spiked a little, and Derek bit back a growl, but Stiles just shrugged cheerily. “What’s up? You didn’t think we knew who you were?”

“Not everyone is you, Stiles. He probably doesn’t even know either of our names, let alone how many of us there are.” Boyd nudged Stiles with his elbow, and then, in the trees in between the two groups, a set of eyes gleamed gold, and then another, and another. The rest of the pack.

“Hey, my dad would _kill_ me if I went out in the woods to meet guys I didn’t even know!”

Derek sighed, allowing himself another quick glance at Stiles, his hands in his pockets, face pulled into an easy, smug grin, before he dragged himself back to business. “Does Stiles need to give you his number?”

Callaghan scowled, and so did the guy apparently named Joseph. “We’re fine.”

With that, Derek nodded, and put his back to the hunters, heading back to his car. He could hear Lydia not far off, Erica with her. Allison brushed a hand against his back, silently telling him that the hunters were still watching.

That was the only reason that he waited until they were back at the side of the road to relax, break out into a relieved grin, and step into Stiles’ space to kiss him, sloppy with how much they were both smiling.

Boyd huffed beside him, rolling his eyes at Derek once they separated, Stiles’ hands still on Derek’s arms, squeezing. “That went well.” Boyd said, offering Derek a small smile.

“Yeah.” Derek let one of his hands rest at Stiles’ side, soaking up his warmth. Scott and Isaac burst through the trees, and he nodded at them. “Good call, announcing your presence like that.”

Scott grinned and Isaac flushed slightly, and then Scott was rushing up to Allison and blabbering compliments at her, which were, of course, deserved.

“Come on.” Lydia cut in, snapping her fingers. “We need to debrief, and I’m not doing that out _here_.”

“We can go back to my place,” Scott grinned, bouncing a little on the spot, barely able to tear his eyes away from Allison. Derek couldn’t criticise him for it, considering the way he was still leaning into Stiles’ space. “I have an actual TV, and we can order food again.”

Derek nodded, unlocking his car. “Debrief first, then-” He frowned, considering for a moment. “Chinese?”

The pack nodded and started spreading out to various cars, and Derek felt like he was glowing, the warmth and confident elation chipping away at even the most rotten, painful parts of himself.

Derek had no clue what movie was playing, just that he was crammed onto a couch with Stiles and Isaac and half of Scott, and that there was food everywhere. Allison and Erica were making comments at the TV, with Lydia occasionally chipping in, and Boyd was happily talking to Scott about- Derek paused, trying to catch up with their conversation- science? Or something?

The room was filled with noise, and warmth, and laughter, undeniably pack. Derek revelled in it, safe in the comfort of Boyd’s assessment of the hunters, confirmed by everything everyone else had picked up on- the hunters didn’t know shit, and they’d have several days at least before they started to make any moves or even knew what moves to make. Hopefully, enough time for the pack to knuckle down and sort shit out.

Stiles apparently had the same idea, once the movie was over and everyone was bickering about what to put on next, he slipped out, heading up to Scott’s bedroom with the ease of someone who’d been doing it for years. Derek followed, sliding a hand over Boyd’s shoulder, brushing against Scott’s arm deliberately.

Stiles blinked up at him when he knocked on Scott’s door and smiled. “What, I get a knock when I’m in Scott’s room, but not my own?”

Derek shrugged and went in, pressing up behind Stiles to look over his shoulder at his laptop. “Time to get work done?”

“Yeah.” Stiles said, pressing back minutely into Derek’s touch. “I can hopefully rule some things out from the grave fuckery, and then it’s on to building a list of future victims.”

Derek nodded and pulled away, moving to sit on Scott’s desk and pull out a book, going with it when Stiles snagged him in for a quick kiss.

“Okay, where are we starting?”

Stiles woke up with a shudder, automatically flailing for his phone. His brain felt like mush.

The notification that had woken him had been an email from some occult forum telling him that his account had been approved, which was nice, but not at- Stiles squinted, forcing his blurry eyes to work- 6 in the morning. He shifted to blinking at his surroundings, and then remembered.

Derek had helped him with research for several hours, and they’d made a good team, and things had been great, really great. And then somewhere along the way Derek had convinced him to get some sleep, which was probably why he was on Scott’s bed with Derek facedown next to him.

Shit, he’d wasted a ton of time sleeping, a ton of time that he _needed_. He slipped out of the bed, dodging past where Isaac was lying half propped up against it, clearly deeply asleep. Okay, he was going to go to the bathroom and splash water on his face and get his fucking shit together. The meeting with the hunters had gone well, and they had time, and now he needed to make good on it all.

He slipped the door shut behind him, careful of how it liked to squeak, and turned to the sink. The water was cold as hell, but it thrust him several degrees further into awakeness, and soothed his aching eyes. You could get eye drops for that, he was pretty sure. Stiles stared at his face in the mirror, squinting, and then glaring.

Okay. No time to fuck about. He was going to go downstairs and brew a fuckton of coffee regardless of whoever was crashed out down there, and then he was going to grab his laptop and, hmm, the thick brown book, probably, and hunker down in the hallway where he wouldn’t bother anyone. And then he was going to _figure this shit the fuck out_ , before one of the pack ended up dead.

Dead, with some sick monster perched on their chest like the oldest form of nightmares, or slashed open in the woods with their powers ripped from them, or just, hell, why not shot by the hunters! Sure, these ones were pretty useless, but they seemed like they would be able to shoot pretty well, so why the fuck not!

Stiles’ mind helpfully filled in the image of the suspected werewolf victim, Callie Hayes, decomposed almost beyond recognition, and then the faces of Lydia, Scott, Derek, _his dad_. The near-omega wolf in the woods had been noticeably more decomposed when they’d left the scene than when they’d got there right after his death- so how bad off would the pack’s bodies be, when he found them? When he got to the scene, late and underprepared and armed with nothing but too many words and, if he was lucky, a car.

He practically jumped out of his skin when a hand slid up his back, but then there was Derek’s voice, a quiet “Hey.” Stiles shuddered and clenched his hands into fists, staring at Derek with wide, barely seeing eyes.

He sucked in a breath, giving himself a little shake, and glanced at the door. Derek took a step back, clearly giving him space, and Stiles crumbled a little, unable to move from his spot stood over the sink.

“They’re all still asleep, all fine.” Derek said, voice gentle.

Stiles forced himself to nod, over the rushing in his ears, the way he felt like he was tilting off of the world. He fumbled for the edge of the sink, gripping it desperately. “How do you do it? Lose a pack? How do you come back from that?”

There was a soft noise from where Derek was stood, over by the shower that took ages to heat up, that Stiles had previously used to rid himself of mud and, one notable time, paint.

“I don’t know if you do.” Derek sounded ragged, like every word was a piece of flesh he was carving out of himself and giving to Stiles. “If you can come back from it.”

Stiles nodded, staring at nothing. Yeah, that clicked, made sense with everything Stiles knew about grief, about how his mom had gone away and how nothing would ever come back, the loss of everything from the Before Time, even though it was far from evenly defined, the bad months bleeding together until he couldn’t remember the order of them, just their shape.

“I’m still… here.” Derek continued, somehow. “So I guess you can, maybe. But also, well-” Stiles glanced at him just in time to see him shrug, and then screwed his eyes tight shut.

“One of them is gonna die.” Stiles said, curling in on himself slightly. “Because I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”

Every second counted, he knew that, and he’d still let himself get drawn to sleep by Derek, still sat and joked around for hours before that, as if there wasn’t a huge information gap that it was _his fucking job_ to fill in, to make sense of. They needed to know how to protect themselves, Stiles needed to know what the damn creatures _were_ , where they came from and what they wanted and how they worked, and he couldn’t fucking _think_.

Derek’s hand brushed against his cheek, his jaw. “I’m the alpha, here. In a pack, nothing ever falls on just one person’s shoulders. And if it ever does, it’s on mine. Just mine. Not yours.”

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from shaking, little fast trembles with huge judders interspersed, and he shook his head. “I need to make you safe.”

“It’s not just you.” Derek said again, pulling Stiles against him, and then, confusingly, stepping away. There was a bunch of rustling, and then a brush of fur against his arms. Stiles forced his eyes open, and waited for them to clear, to focus, to make sense. There was a great big fucking wolf in the McCall bathroom, pressing his enormous head against Stiles’ stomach, his chest, his arms.

“Oh,” Stiles said, broken in that way of desperate hysterical laughter. Derek the wolf pressed closer against him, and somehow, despite all the limbs and trembling and chaos, Stiles ended up on the floor, sink cabinet digging into his side, with a huge fluffy wolf on top of him.

He buried his face in the fur, fingers finding one of Derek’s paws and wrapping his hand around it. Derek was fucking _huge_ like this, and Stiles had seen werewolves do the full shift before, back during spring break, and he’d seen Derek do it too, once, but like this, pressed close, Derek’s soft ears and huge paws were taking up all of Stiles’ vision, narrowing everything down to a mountain of fluff.

“Even if they don’t die, what happens after?” Stiles whispered, into a mouthful of soft fur. Derek huffed out a slow breath, one of his weird wolf knees digging into his side as he wriggled closer. Stiles bit his tongue on worse questions, things he couldn’t ask, and then again on a series of tiny scared noises. He was supposed to be loud goofy research boy, not this fucking wreck.

After an interminable time of shaking apart on the tile floor, Stiles managed to focus in on Derek’s breathing, the slow dip and expand of his ribcage, and eventually he was able to match his own to it. He felt wrung out, emptied, useless, and before long he was going to have to get up and sit down to get some shit done. He’d done it before, countless times, jumped straight from panic attack into drowning his thoughts in ancient texts and weird blog posts. It fucking sucked, but what else was there?

Derek’s big wolfy head tipped up to look at him, eyes different somehow but still the same type of breathtaking.

“Sorry.” Stiles croaked.

Derek glared at him, and it was so unmistakably Derek’s Glare that Stiles couldn't help but laugh a little. “Yeah?”

Derek huffed a little and wormed his way around until he could jam his entire enormous head into the crook of Stiles’ neck. There was a lot of wolf breathing directly in his ear. Stiles ran his hands down Derek’s sides, fingers sliding through his fur.

After a moment, Stiles closed his eyes and tipped his head back, listening and feeling Derek breathing against him.

His ass was starting to get seriously numb when there was a knock on the door.

“Stiles?” Came Scott’s voice.

“Yeah, Scott?” Stiles croaked, pulling a face at the way his voice sounded. Derek shifted against him, like he was going to get up, and Stiles pulled him tighter. No, this was-

They hadn’t talked about this thing between the two of them. Stiles had barely allowed himself to think about it, but it was something. Easy kisses and barely there smiles, and shit, Derek had even managed to talk him into getting some sleep, multiple times, that shit never happened. He’d agreed to be Derek’s emissary for as long as he wanted him, sure, but that barely covered the research and the talking to the hunters, didn’t even begin to scratch at the careful touches and the wolf on his lap.

The bathroom door clicked open, because it was Scott, so of fucking course it did, and then there was shifting muscle and bone under his hands, which, great, he’d already felt kinda like vomiting as it was! Except for how oh god, okay, god, lapful of naked Derek, strewn across him much more awkwardly than he had been as a wolf, exposing the long line of his back to Stiles as he turned to face Scott.

Who was bright red and stammering, having only just gotten into “Hey, dude, I-” before Derek had shifted. Stiles screwed his eyes shut and bashed his head against the bathroom cabinet.

Derek sighed and pulled away from Stiles, but kept a hand on his arm, keeping him steady. Yeah, it was shit like that that _meant_ something, something delicate and precious that it seemed like neither of them wanted to talk about, for fear of shattering it somehow. Which Stiles inevitably would do by shoving his foot directly up his mouth, but until then, it was nice.

Scott started talking again, so Stiles assumed that meant Derek had pulled his jeans on again and opened his eyes. “Dude, did you just have a panic attack?” Stiles blinked at him. “Because I’m pretty sure I _felt_ it. Erica too, I think.”

“You didn’t all hear me freaking out, did you?”

“No.” Scott shook his head, offering a hand and pulling Stiles to his feet. “We can talk about whatever it was later, though, if you want.”

“Ha, no.” Stiles stumbled a little once he was upright, and both Scott and Derek caught him. That was nice.

Scott rolled his eyes, clearly having expected that. “No, like, we felt it, like magic or something.”

“Medical alert dog,” Stiles mumbled, turning his back to again splash water on his face. Not much point trying to scrub away the evidence with _this_ crowd, but still, it was- it would be weird to not.

Derek grumbled at him, and Stiles flashed him a quick grin. Dog jokes were the best. Hell, he should be getting points for not saying something about Derek being his new magic therapy dog. And hey, _there_ was something that would explode the warm tangle of feelings and kisses between them!

“It’s the pack bond.” Derek said, starting to nudge both him and Scott out of the bathroom. Like a sheepdog. Stiles needed caffeine.

He went straight for the kitchen to acquire some, dodging around Allison to start up some of the heavy duty coffee that Mellissa kept in case of rough shifts at the hospital. And also probably in case of Stiles. Erica and Boyd were up, and joined Scott in asking Derek about the pack bond, which Stiles tuned out. When the coffee was ready, Lydia pressed up beside him and set down a mug next to his own, looking the most wrecked he’d seen her outside of immediate supernatural aftermath. Rough morning edition Lydia Martin, huh. They were honoured, it seemed.

“Shit, let’s test it!” Scott said, right as Stiles took the first huge swig of coffee.

“I’ll do a lot for science, and for you, but I’m not having another panic attack to confirm a theory.” Stiles said, not looking up from his mug.

Isaac came trooping down the stairs, and Stiles watched through bleary eyes as Scott turned to him. “Isaac! Hey, punch me?”

He burst out into a laugh despite himself, and then couldn’t stop when he saw Isaac’s bewildered face. “No?” Isaac said, sounding beyond unsure.

“Here!” Erica grinned, and then swung for Scott. She got him right in the stomach, and Stiles just shook his head, leaning against the countertop beside Allison.

“I think I felt that.” Boyd nodded, eyes distant.

“Go again,” Allison grinned at Scott’s little puppy face. “Make sure.”

Stiles drained the rest of his coffee, turning away to pour himself more. He frowned, thinking, working his poor wrung out brain around the sensations he was feeling. “Was that- right arm?” He asked, spooning out a shit ton of sugar.

“Holy shit!” Scott said, a little breathlessly. “You can feel it too?”

“Not- I don’t know, man, it’s weird.” Stiles shrugged, stepping out of the way to let Isaac at the coffee.

“It varies between packmates,” Derek rumbled from the corner where he was, predictably, lurking. “But even humans can usually feel at least something.”

Thankfully, nobody tried to punch anybody again. Instead, they all lapsed into what must’ve been a pretty hilarious silence, all clearly focusing on trying to sort out a new sixth sense. They were all pulling some pretty interesting faces, at least.

Stiles found himself thinking of the ritual he’d skimmed over to make a pack’s emissary more in tune with the wolves, running through the steps in his head. Definitely wouldn’t have time, and it wasn’t the right moon phase, so he ditched that idea and glanced up. Not like he would’ve been able to bring himself to _ask_ , anyway.

Scott was frowning, not just his concentration face, but something more, like he was working through a chemistry problem that was about to turn into a snake and bite him.

“Something feels dead.” Lydia said, her eyes closed. Stiles’ head snapped around to her, and he frowned.

“Like how you kept finding those bodies?” Allison asked gently.

“No.”

“Could be a new variation of whatever supernatural shit you’ve got going on-” Stiles cut himself off and snapped up even further. He abandoned his coffee and flung himself into the living room, starting to dig under last night’s takeout boxes. _Shit_ , _shit shit_ , it fucking couldn’t be.

“No, there’s something off.” Came Isaac’s voice. “In the same kind of way that I felt Scott getting punched.”

There was a snarling from the other room, and Stiles glanced over his shoulder to see Scott wolfed the fuck out, face inhuman and fangy and just as distant as it had been on his first full moon. He paused his search to watch, uncertain if turning his back was a good idea. It was Scott, yes, and he had control of the wolfy side of things now, yes, but that was still a predator clearly losing his fucking shit, and Stiles’ lizard brain was _screaming_.

“Scott.” Derek warned, stepping into Stiles’ view, closer to Scott.

Scott snapped his head up to look at Derek, and Stiles’ breath caught in his throat. “It’s like when Peter was calling me out to kill.”

Stiles swallowed. Oh, they were fucked, they were so _fucked_. He turned his back on the angry predator that was his best friend after all, lifting up a pillow and finally finding the book he’d wanted.

He flipped through the pages, eyes wide, as Erica quietly asked “Is it like, a sickly, wrong feeling? Cause I’d just figured that was what being a werewolf was like.”

“Wait, call you out to _kill_?” Isaac asked, a mix of bitterness and fear.

“No, no, no-” Stiles muttered, forcing his hands to stop shaking lest they tear the pages of the book.

“When did you last see Peter?” Lydia asked, voice all prom-queen prissy, so pointedly unaffected that it was clear she was freaking out, too. Stiles’ own panic probably wasn’t helping things either, especially if they were feeling it down the pack bond, but oh god, he’d _forgotten_ about Peter fucking Hale, undead werewolf extroadinare.

Derek presumably gave some sort of nonverbal nonanswer, because that was the sound of Scott snarling at him even louder.

Stiles sprung to his feet, already reading aloud breathlessly. “Vampires are supposed to be such dead persons as in their lifetimes were wizards, witches, and werewolves.”

The pack looked at him, and he stopped in the kitchen doorway.

“Vampires?” Isaac asked, incredulous. Scott even stopped the snarling.

“Not like that. There’s a bunch of translation and linguistics-” Stiles shook his head, waving his explanation away. The next words fell out of him almost like he was being possessed, cold and flat and uncontrollable. “What happens when a dead werewolf comes back to life?”

Lydia’s mug shattered on the floor, shards flying everywhere.

All he could think was how much _blood_ there’d been, that night on the lacrosse field, the way Lydia had _screamed_ , the racing of her pulse under his fingertips, thudding all the life out of her and onto the grass. How he’d left her there with no idea if she’d survive, if she’d forever be the girl who got attacked at the Spring Dance, instead of whatever great thing she would go on to become.

The dead nurse in Peter’s trunk, the way she’d thumped to the concrete, the complete disregard, the casualness of it, that _thunk_ when she hit the floor, more horrifying than when she’d threatened him herself.

Scott, out of his fucking mind. Scott, having a horrific bloody nightmare and then seeing it writ real across a schoolbus, the way his best friend in the whole fucking world had looked when he’d been certain he’d killed Allison, torn her to shreds and left blood and flesh everywhere. Scott, lunging at him in the hallways of this very house, fury and fangs and every human piece of him, every piece Stiles knew and loved, driven away by the moon. By Peter.

“It’s Peter.” He said, staring at the book in his hands, pages creasing under too tight fingers. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t think, and this was different from any panic attack, this was certainty and dread and horror, injected directly into his bloodstream, and echoing through him along what must be the bonds to the others. To his pack. Which was also Peter’s pack.

“I’m sorry.” Lydia said, tight and perfect and then immediately losing all control. “One of your options was an undead werewolf and you didn’t think to _tell me?_ ”

“It wasn’t-” Stiles choked out.

“This is the uncle you told us was on our side, right?” Isaac rounded on Derek, sharp and brittle.

Scott huffed. “ _That’s_ what you said? He killed your fucking sister, holy shit, Derek, what?”

“We wouldn’t have beat the kanima without him.” Derek said, just as inflectionless as he’d been when Stiles had first met him.

“You wouldn’t have beat it without _me_.” Lydia hissed.

“Peter wouldn’t be back from the dead if you hadn’t drugged us.” Scott snarled.

Stiles forced his eyes to work, shoulders shaking. The first thing he really processed seeing was Allison, her face distant, eyes terrified. _God_ , Peter had ripped her aunt’s throat out and then gone for her own, a twisted horrific animal covered in blood, and they’d killed him, together. Peter would come for her. If he hadn’t in all the time that he’d been back from the dead, it was because he was planning something. And she knew that. He could see it.

“ _You_ know what a pack bond feels like.” Stiles rounded on Derek, snapping the book shut so he couldn’t damage it any further. “You knew something was wrong, didn’t you?”

He had no idea how his voice was coming out as steady as it was, cold and sure, when all he could think was blood and fire and fear. “And you didn’t say anything. Because you never _fucking_ do, do you Derek?”

Derek flinched, and then snarled. “What, you wanted me to tell you about the enormous fucking _crater_ inside me where a pack should be? Little parting gift right before you leave for college?”

The ‘right before you all leave _me_ ’ went unspoken, but Derek was terrifyingly certain that at least some of them heard it.

“Yes!” Stiles yelled, and Derek glowered, feeling it like a punch to the gut. “Yes, holy fucking _shit_!” Stiles threw his hands up, turning away from him, before whirling back around, voice tight this time. “I don’t know what I fucking expected. You don’t tell us shit, you don’t do shit, why would I think you’d keep track of your homicidal zombie uncle?”

Derek snapped, getting right in his face. “Yeah? Like you kept track of everyone here? Were you just so busy making sure none of the people Isaac was fucking were going to kill him that you forgot about Peter? But it’s my job, right, even though you’re the one keeping tabs.”

Stiles flinched back and then reared forwards, refusing to give ground. Derek caught a glimpse of Isaac behind him, wide-eyed. “Shut the fuck up, the only reason you know about that is because you were doing it too.”

Derek bared his teeth at him, shoulders set. Stiles tipped his chin up, pointedly exposing his throat, a challenge, but all Derek could see was Peter, throat torn open, blood spraying all over Derek’s hands.

“I’m the-” He gritted out, cut off by a laugh from Stiles, bitter and sharp.

“The alpha, huh? Which means it _is_ your job, actually.”

Derek bit his tongue, staring straight at Stiles. God, this, after everything in the bathroom, everything before, he felt like he was going to be sick. This was- Stiles had trusted him to keep Peter under wraps. Derek didn’t know why, or what he’d expected, either. People placing their trust in Derek had never gone well, before.

“Yeah?” Stiles said, with a dismissive twitch. “That’s it, huh?”

Derek screwed his eyes shut and forced them back open again. “He’s the only family I have left and I killed him once already, forgive me for not wanting to do it again.”

He could see, in real time, Stiles seeing right through him, through the angry cut to his words, a tilt of understanding that did nothing to lessen the storm of feeling across his face.

“So, what?” Isaac cut in, distant, sarcastic. “You’ll let him kill people, kill us, just so _you_ don’t have to?”

Derek jerked himself away from Stiles, hands clenching into fists by his sides.

“Why not?” Erica answered with false cheer. “Means he doesn’t have those teenagers he regrets biting lingering around, gumming up the works.”

Derek fucking _snapped_ , the wolf in him, the human, all raging in confusion and pain and anger. Like _he_ was the one trying to get rid of people, who didn’t want this thing to work, who had regrets. Like he didn’t ache for it every fucking day, like it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to have to keep a wall between him and his raw animal _want_ and the pack that wasn’t, to let them have a life outside of _him_ and his _shit_.

“You left. All of you. The second you got the chance.” His eyes were gleaming red, voice too loud, even for this. Boyd scoffed, and Derek flicked his eyes over to him. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t have. So you can all shut the _fuck_ up about what I should’ve done while you were all out getting wasted at frat parties.”

Stiles laughed quietly, still standing in the middle of the kitchen where he’d gone toe to toe with Derek. “Yeah, this year has been non-stop partying, sure.”

“None of us _asked_ you to waste your time e-stalking us.” Lydia said, eyes hard, spine set. “So don’t expect me to feel sorry for you and your stupid choices.”

“Not sure why you even bothered, anyway.” Isaac muttered, looking out the kitchen window.

Derek didn’t know that, either. Scott made sense, Lydia too, even, but he’d caught wind of Stiles driving down to Berkeley to talk to one of the packs who had wolves there, and that was Erica, who Stiles had no real reason to be looking after. Erica was Derek’s responsibility, his fault that she was in this mess, this world, not Stiles’. It had been his choice, really, and how could he have expected her to say no to the bite, to a cure, while lying in a fucking hospital bed?

He wanted to throw up, to push over to the sink and empty his guts, but he couldn’t. He was the alpha. No vulnerability, no weakness, no doubt, just a pillar of strength, a shelter. Ha, a tangled mess of thorns permanently on fire, more like.

Derek’s eyes tracked the movement of Boyd’s hand as he raised it, opening his mouth. “Why aren’t _you_ aware of any of this?” He asked, and it took Derek a long moment to realise it was directed at Allison. And there was another reason to not show any weakness- an Argent in the room.

“Because my family set his on fire.” Allison answered, and Derek found himself drawing tighter, watching Allison’s posture shift, into something more ready for a fight. She looked away, biting her lip, and then glanced at Derek, before back to Boyd. “I wasn’t going to stop Peter from having a second chance-”

Derek didn’t have even a second to process her words, what they meant, before Erica was cutting in. “So a guy kills your aunt, and he gets a second chance, and _I_ try to get out of this nightmare and you _shoot_ me?”

Allison flinched, crumpling in on herself, and Scott roared, stepping between them. Derek’s hands twitched, ready to keep Scott down if he needed to, like he’d nearly had to before, but Scott was keeping it together, albeit ablaze with fury.

“You gonna run again?” Scott snapped, jerking his head towards the door. “You better, if you keep talking to Allison like that.”

Allison rested a hand on his back, and Scott relaxed slightly, fangs still showing. Well, at least _that_ was going well, Derek thought, somewhat hysterically.

He was going to have to kill Peter again. He’d gotten him back, the uncle who’d showed him how to cheat at cards, who’d chased him and Laura and the other kids around the garden, who’d made him have nightmares for a week after one of his ghost stories. He’d killed Laura and Derek had killed him and left him lying in the bones of the house, along with everyone else, and he’d clawed his way out and Derek had had him _back_ , and he was going to have to kill him again. _Again_.

God, how many times was he doomed to relive it? He could never make up for what he’d done, for the lives that were undeniably lying at his feet, burnt beyond recognition, no punishment would ever be enough, but surely, surely at some point, it would stop?

Or maybe that was just- it. Him, killing his family, over and over, into eternity. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t died, that day, alongside everyone else, a special kind of punishment. A Sisyphean familicide.

“Maybe you should.” Stiles said, thready, raw, and Derek forced the words into his brain until they came back out making sense. “Run. While you have the chance. He’s going after werewolves, you need to-” He cut himself off, and then tried again, more certain this time. “Get out while you can.”

Derek didn’t breathe, and it felt like the world was suspended in time with him.

“Maybe I fucking _should_.” Erica stood shaking, an arm wrapped around her middle. “Maybe I should find somewhere where I’m actually fucking _wanted_ , huh?” She glanced at Derek, and he had no idea what she saw, what was written over his face, his posture, bleeding through the pack bond. All he got was acres and acres of pain and fear. Erica laughed, not a funny sound. “Goes for all of us, really, none of us actually _want_ to be here.”

Her heartbeat almost suttered.

“That’s not what I-” Stiles choked out, taking a step closer to her, Erica taking the same step back.

Stiles bit his lip, eyes screwed shut, and Derek couldn’t help but watch him. If anybody else moved, he didn’t know about it. Stiles looked up, met Derek’s eyes, and there, that was exactly what Erica must’ve seen in his own face. Fear and dread and loss, echoing strangely, ricocheting off of all their broken parts.

Derek felt his throat making a tiny noise, and Stiles was turning to face him fully, steady, certain. He knew, then. How terrified Derek was, beyond any reasonable thing, just acres and acres of it, nothing but terror and loss and anticipated pain. An alpha was the pillar of their pack. Derek was just a sunken pit of fear.

He sagged under Stiles’ gaze, under the gaze of the rest of the room, heavy, too perceptive. Derek watched Stiles take a deep breath, dreading whatever accusation was coming next, whatever blow, whatever unearthed pain, exposed nerve.

“I’m not going to lose any of you.” Stiles’ voice was shaky, trembling towards the end of each word. He looked around him, quickly, furtively. And then he spoke again, less quiet this time. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you die, because I didn’t put it together fast enough because I can’t bear to think about Peter fucking Hale. I-”

Stiles swallowed, and continued. “You’re my pack, and I want you here, and I want you alive. And I’ll watch you leave, if you want, but I’m not going to watch you _fucking_ die.”

The moment hung, delicate, teetering on a ledge. Stiles looked like he was waiting for it to fall, to tip over the edge and plummet, like it was inevitable, a shoe waiting to be dropped.

Derek met him there, on the tightrope.

“I’ve killed him before.” He paused, letting that sit, letting the words fit in his mouth. “There were less of us then, and we were even further from being a pack.”

Derek saw Scott nod, Lydia pull herself together with a shaky breath.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, but whatever it is, I can’t do it alone. Right now, if I-” He closed his eyes, only allowing himself a moment. “If I have to kill him again, you’re the people I want with me. At my side. There’s a reason I bit you.” Derek looked at Erica, Boyd, Isaac in turn, making sure they heard the steady beat of truth behind it.

“There’s a reason you’re here. And I want you here.” He flicked his gaze to Lydia, tense at Erica’s side, Scott, still in the beta shift, the wolf finally suiting him, or him finally suiting the wolf, Allison, swallowing heavily behind Scott, who’d bared her neck to him in submission, yesterday in the woods, even after he’d bitten her mother, as good as killed her. Stiles, in the middle of the room with him, on the same ledge, the cliff, the abyss.

“We’re going to take him down. You, me, us. We’re going to take him down.”

Stiles felt like he was in the emotional equivalent of the eye of the storm. _Us_. He could feel it reverberating through him, down to his core, hooking its roots deeper into him. Part of that might even be the pack bond, which he wasn’t even sure if he could properly feel or if it was like that thing where you pushed your arms into a door frame for a while and when you stepped out, they floated upwards all magic-like.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed, letting his eyes slide closed as he took a step closer to Derek. They’d already been stood pretty close, but now Stiles was halfway to convincing himself he could feel Derek’s warmth, right there, close enough to touch.

So he did.

Derek felt sturdy against his hands, even as he glanced at Stiles with desperate eyes. “Yeah.” Stiles repeated, at a normal volume this time. “I’m in this for the long haul, you know that.”

He could hear Scott’s quiet huff of laughter behind him, because of course, fucking Scotty, knowing Stiles better than anyone, he knew that before even Stiles had. He didn’t shoot a grin at Scott like he usually would, though.

Instead Stiles stepped a little closer, slid his hand around to Derek’s back, bumping their shoulders together. Derek nodded, a tiny movement that he probably wouldn’t have caught if he wasn’t staring at him, tracking every breath, every twitch.

Stiles drew strength from that, enough to force the next words out of his mouth, out of his chest, where they’d been hiding for so, so long. “I want this pack more than anything.”

Derek let out a tiny noise beside him, and Stiles should probably still be pissed. There’d been a lot of yelling, after all. But he’d said some _shit_ himself, and even with that aside, he just felt wrung out, but in a much more hopeful way than he had not half an hour previous.

“You do?” Isaac asked, and Stiles jumped, turning to look at him. Which meant looking at everyone else, who all looked just about as raw as Stiles felt.

Scott snorted another laugh, and then he was at Stiles’ other shoulder, poking him in the ribs. Stiles took a moment to flip him off.

“Shut the fuck up, Scott.” He shook his head, and Scott gave him a _look_. Stiles returned it, and then brought himself back to focus, back to look at their pack, Isaac pink and scared, Boyd tense and drawn up small in a corner, Erica propped against a counter beside Lydia, Allison clearly trying to make herself invisible with no one to hide behind, now that Scott had moved.

“I- look, okay, motherfucker. Okay. All of you fuckers, you’re mine, in like a non-creepy way, uh, shit.” He shook his head. “Fuck it, whatever, I don’t even care. I choose you, weird ass Pikachu. I-” Stiles cut himself off before he could drag it back into jokes, into sarcasm, into easy deflection. “I give so much of a damn about each of you, okay? I’ll find you new packs if that’s what you want, all the works, as long as you promise to tell me you’re okay now and again. All the time. For, uh, forever.”

“What happened to saying you’d let us die?” Erica scoffed, arms folded across her chest.

Stiles shrugged, and Derek’s hand slipped around to touch his side, a matching pressure to Stiles’ hand on his back.

“I didn’t know you that well.” Stiles shrugged, not able to make eye contact. “There’s not much I wouldn’t do for people I care about, but that’s a pretty binary thing, yeah?” His voice cracked, and Derek’s hand shifted on his back, gentle but enough to anchor him. He shuddered, and screwed his eyes shut.

“So I care about you all a lot, okay? But like, look, man, holy fuck, I can only handle so much rejection, so if you could just get it all out now, fuckin make an orderly line if you gotta, then I can bash my face into a wall for a little and then get to work on finding out how to kill Peter.”

He didn’t let himself trip over the name, and even though Stiles was hyper aware of all movement right then, Derek didn’t even flinch, not a single twitch. Not like he had earlier.

Stiles let himself screw his eyes shut for several long seconds, and then forced them open. Face your fears with open eyes, after all.

“Okay,” Isaac muttered, taking an abortive step forwards. Stiles caught a glimpse of a shaky smile from Erica, and then there were bodies pressing up against him, warm and solid. Scott yelped slightly beside him, and Derek rumbled, and holy damn, that was Isaac squishing into the space between him and Scott, Erica’s arm hooking around his neck, Allison laughing and pressing up behind Scott, a hand joining Derek’s on Stiles’ back.

Stiles laughed, a desperate relief of pressure, extracting his arms from the tangle enough to wrap them around whoever he could reach. He watched from a weird angle as Lydia rolled her eyes and squeezed into the mess, definitely stepping on _someone_ ’s toes, judging by the little whine.

“Yeah, okay.” Boyd rumbled, and then Stiles was being squished in even further, and everyone was making noise, protests and giggles and caught breaths, and fuck three sizes, Stiles’ heart was growing like, seven.

Somewhere in the press of limbs, of _pack_ , Derek’s chin bumped against his cheek, at first clearly by accident, and then again, a careful brush of reassurance, of feelings that they would probably have to address at some point.

Eventually, somehow, the world righted itself, in a tangle of wolves and humans and whatever the fuck was up with Lydia. And it stayed right-side up, even as they split apart, as Isaac ducked into the living room to sort out the leftovers, as Lydia put on another pot of coffee.

Stiles took a moment to breathe it in, shaking his limbs out, like that would do something. He caught Derek’s eye, and fuck it, he couldn’t help himself. He stepped into his space, cupping his face and drawing him in for a quick, chaste kiss, celebratory in a way similar to the one right after the hunter meeting, but also completely new.

“We’re gonna deal with this.” He said, half to hear himself say the words. No more room for panic, for doubt, for blame. They’d both said some shit, sure, but.

“Yeah, we are.” Derek breathed against his lips, and Stiles felt himself shiver.

“I don’t actually blame you for any of that shit, you know.” He said, keeping Derek close.

Derek nodded, tipping his head against Stiles’. “It’s not your fault, either.”

Stiles sighed, kissed him again, slow and sweet and almost languid, before pulling away. Okay, okay, research. Books. Zombie werewolves.

Stiles descended on his books and weird internet websites and old archived PDF scans with new fervour, aware of people moving around him, talking, working, but not paying them any heed. This was the easiest he’d ever dropped into The Zone before, though he was pretty sure he wouldn’t ever go for emotional confrontations as a pre-game ritual before starting in on any college essays.

The quote he’d pulled up was about Russian legends, but neither their vampires or werewolves fit quite right. He followed the threads, squinting his way through bibliographies, related works, and then it clicked.

“Vrykolakas.” He called out, loud enough to be clear that it wasn’t absent muttering, and kept reading.

“You sure?” Allison asked, apparently sitting beside him.

Stiles nodded. “Greek, doesn’t fit either vampire or werewolf patterns or traditions, but has strong ties to both.”

There was a jolt of excitement, relief, too late to be his own, and huh, he totally was picking up on some kind of sixth sense pack bond. Well, not _sixth_ sense, technically, since there were actually more than six senses, but- Stiles shook his head, and forced himself back to work.

Stiles was sprawled out on the floor, back to the couch, laptop balanced on one knee and a book on the other, when Scott prodded him. Stiles flipped him off absently, but then Scott caught his hand.

“Come on, it’s lunchtime, and then we’re gonna go out to Hale House, spar a little. Practice fighting, like as a team.”

Stiles couldn’t help but grin at the excited look on Scott’s face. “Fine, fine, but I’m gonna keep reading-”

“No, you’re not.” Scott cut in, removing the book from his lap and starting to pull him upright, forcing Stiles to rescue his laptop himself.

Stiles grumbled, but his eyes were stinging a little, so a break was probably a good idea. Like, an idea he never really chose to take, but he could recognise good ideas when he saw them, even if he then promptly disregarded them.

Isaac shoved a plate with a sandwich on it at him as soon as Stiles made it into the kitchen, and then gestured to the backdoor, which was propped open. He idly texted his dad an excuse about their ‘late gaming night’ turning into an afternoon of lacrosse and sleeping in, and went outside to join everyone, Isaac following behind him.

“You know, it makes a lot of sense, in retrospect.” Stiles said as he sidled up next to Derek, taking a huge bite of his sandwich. Huh, just the amount of mayo he liked, nice. Derek hummed at him, so he continued. “You know, it being a vrykolakas. It kinda fit, mostly, but greek pseudo-vampire undead werewolf, Northern California zombie nightmare, potato potato.”

Derek blinked at him. “You said potato the same way both times.”

“Yeah!” Stiles grinned, waving his sandwich around. Derek looked exasperated, which was a fucking delight. “Heard you’re gonna drag us out to do some-” He paused to mime swinging a few punches and also take another bite of sandwich. “-Fighting practice!”

Derek caught him before he could wobble over, and then let his hand rest at the back of Stiles’ neck, thumb pressing against the skin of his throat, just hard enough to clearly be deliberate.

“I’m assuming whatever strategy you cook up will involve a part where we just fight like hell, so yes.”

Stiles shrugged, smiling helplessly at him. “Oh!” He perked up, glancing around. “Lydia! Your mom or whoever doesn’t happen to have a boat, does she?”

Lydia stared at him, for a long moment, and then another. “No.” She said, making it sound halfway like a question.

“We’re quite a way inland,” Allison put in, frowning. “It’s like an hour or two to the coast.”

Stiles shrugged, not really disappointed, and didn’t let himself get distracted with the way the movement shifted Derek’s hand on the back of his neck. “Yeah, fair. Apparently people used to abandon the dead person who they thought was a vrykolakas on an uninhabited island, something about saltwater. But also like, the distance couldn’t hurt.”

“Peter could swim pretty well.” Derek said, and then frowned at himself. Stiles snickered, polishing off his sandwich.

“Not gonna happen without a boat, but good to know!”

“Shut the fuck up, Stiles.”

“No!” Stiles said brightly, but he let Derek draw him closer and didn’t even roll his eyes at the quiet growl.

They packed up and trooped out to the Hale House, Stiles’ laptop fully charged and Lydia loaded up with things that needed translating from Greek. Stiles, for his part, was sifting through archived articles on a website about ‘real vampires’. Which he probably should’ve been less sceptical about considering he was reading the site while his literal actual pack of werewolves tussled in the grass not far from him, but, well. Fuck it.

Lydia was griping about conjugations beside him, and his laptop screen was dim to save on battery, but they made good progress as the afternoon went on. When he got sick of reading accounts of strange happenings and body burnings, he flipped over to seeing if there were any records of Peter in the last year or so. There were none, of course, but Stiles couldn’t say if that was because he was lying low or because he’d erased his footprint. With what he knew of Peter Hale, both were likely true.

Stiles glanced over at Lydia, having to check that she was okay, that she wasn’t still bleeding, that she wasn’t still out in the lacrosse field where he’d left her all those months ago. That she wasn’t in the woods somewhere, terrified and naked and stumbling across dead bodies. She quickly noticed, and sighed, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles shrugged and looked back at his laptop, pausing before asking quietly, “You’re okay, right?”

“I’ll be better when we’ve dismembered him, but yes.” She said, tight but not unfriendly.

There was a shout of triumph from the wolves, and Stiles found himself laughing a little, watching as Erica danced about in victory. Lydia hummed, also watching Erica move.

“She’s good.” Stiles said, nodding. Allison heaved Scott up from the dirt, both of them blushing lightly.

Lydia hummed again, and turned her attention back to the printouts of old greek journals. “I hope you’re ready for the two of us to take over the world.”

Stiles laughed, leaning back against the porch of the Hale House. “I should sell tickets.”

“You’d make a terrible salesman.” Lydia said, but Stiles didn’t have the brainwidth to respond. He’d caught sight of Derek, sweaty and shirtless and fucking _miles_ of goddamn rippling muscle, the whole nine yards. He was smiling slightly, coaxing Boyd into doing some kind of violent swipe-step thing.

Stiles’ heart caught in his throat. Oh, he was doomed.

Derek had clearly been dodging each of Boyd’s attacks with ease, but the next one he just took to the face, freezing in place. Behind him, Isaac burst out into laughter, and Boyd joined in. “You having trouble focusing?” Isaac snorted, loud enough to be heard from across the clearing.

Stiles blinked, and then flushed. Shit, what if Derek had noticed him watching, heard the tick of his heart, or worse, felt it through the pack bond? Lydia laughed beside him, and Derek’s face was flushed red as he whirled on Isaac, taking him down in a quick sweep.

He shook himself, and forced his eyes back to his notes. He frowned, immediately forgetting about the wolf Thunderdome of Sweaty Hotness, and waved a hand at Lydia. “Hey, you know what’s up with the shoemakers?”

Lydia didn’t reply for a second, and Stiles could just imagine the incredulous look she must be giving him. “I… I like shoes? Stiles, what?”

“No, no!” Stiles snapped his fingers, gesturing at his screen. “This makes _three_ vrykolokases- vrykolakai? Who’ve been shoemakers. Like, cobblers or whatever.”

“Weird.” Lydia audibly frowned. “I haven’t seen any mention of any specific jobs, but, wait-” Paper rustled, and Stiles glanced over at her. “Wait, yeah, here’s a shoemaker. Village of Pyrgos, have you got that one already?”

Stiles nodded. “Three’s a pattern, huh?”

Lydia shot a look at him. “Peter was not a shoemaker.” She frowned, and added, “He wasn’t even wearing any when I hallucinated him.”

Stiles sucked in a breath and knocked his leg against hers, nodding. She smiled at him and shrugged, as if to suggest that Lydia Martin could never be upset by anything, but he knew better, and even more, she knew he did.

Isaac drifted over to them before either of them could say anything more, reaching for one of the bottles of water beside their feet. “Research going well?”

“Yeah,” Stiles grinned, scrolling through his notes document. “What day is it today?”

Isaac frowned at him. “Friday. You should know that.”

Stiles shrugged, not about to explain that he’d spent the last however many days alternating between research mania and panic attacks and so had lost track of all sense of time. Instead, he sprung up, setting his laptop down. It looked like the wolf fight club was taking a break, which meant that he could reset his brain by bothering Derek.

Allison and Scott were drifting off to one side, talking quietly, Allison showing Scott one of her knives, cool, okay, sure. Derek was watching Boyd and Erica circle each other, so Stiles sidled up behind him, sliding a hand up those gratuitous back muscles.

“Hey,” He breathed, feeling his pulse jump when he felt Derek shiver under his hands. “We’ve made some progress, how’s the violence going?”

“Pretty good,” Derek said, turning to look at him as Erica kicked out at Boyd. He looked good like that, flushed and well-worn.

Stiles nodded, hooking his chin over Derek’s shoulder. That brought their faces impossibly close, and Stiles bit his lip on a grin. Derek’s eyes were dark, flicking between his eyes and his mouth, and, huh, he’d seen Derek do that before, ages ago. Derek turned to face him more fully, turning his back to Boyd and Erica, one hand coming up to rest at Stiles’ hip.

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Stiles grinned, pressing up closer against him. Behind Derek, he caught sight of Erica winking at him, Boyd dropping to a crouch. Stiles grinned wider, brushed his lips against Derek’s cheek, and then, watching Boyd count down from three with his fingers, sprung away, laughing.

Both wolves collided with Derek, knocking the breath out of him with a _huff_ and then sending them all tipping forwards onto the dry summer grass. Stiles laughed harder at the look on Derek’s face, clutching an arm around himself.

Derek growled, and rolled his eyes, shoving Boyd off of him. “Yeah, yeah, good one. You better not be planning on distracting the- Peter, like that.”

“Yeah, mouldy dead uncle really does it for me,” Stiles grinned, and Erica burst out into snickers. Derek sighed and sat up, draping his arms over his bent knees, not making any move to get up.

“You have something?” He said, clearly fighting away amusement. Fuckin’ _success_.

“Oh, does he _ever_!” Erica cackled, springing away when Derek swung a glare in her direction. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll just leave you to it.” She wandered away, and Stiles heard her say something to Allison about her crossbow, so he sank to sit next to Derek, limbs splaying out everywhere.

“I’m pretty sure the second one is Callie Hayes. Seems to have been a werewolf, empty grave, it all fits.” Stiles started, poking Derek’s ankle with his toes. “So there’s that. Probably killed and then turned. As far as weaknesses go, we’ve got salt water, but that might just be oceans and/or islands.”

He paused, and Derek tilted his head up, hooking their legs together, so Stiles continued. “There’s varying degrees of priest and holy stuff, but even those sources seemed to think that was just the Church muscling in on old traditions.”

Derek nodded. “Yeah, wouldn’t exactly be the first time.”

Stiles grinned and nodded back. “So then there’s good ol’ reliable, fire, dismemberment, exhuming the body and then cutting it to pieces, and _then_ setting it on fire, all that.”

Derek sighed and looked over Stiles’ shoulder, presumably to where Allison, Erica, and Scott were getting up to _some_ kind of bullshit. “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?” He sounded almost defeated, resigned to it.

Stiles shrugged and hooked his foot around Derek’s. “Yeah. In less, uh, expected news, the vrykolakas can’t leave its grave on Sundays. And today’s a Friday.”

Derek looked back at Stiles at that, a flicker of something in his eyes. “So that’s when we make our move.”

“On Peter, yes. I think we might be able to nab the other one, Callie, before then, honestly.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, and Stiles sighed, steeling himself. “Where’s Peter buried?”

Derek screwed his eyes shut, one hand blindly reaching out towards Stiles, and he caught it, letting Derek squeeze his hand. “Under the floorboards, in the house.”

Stiles nodded. He knew a little about werewolf burials, but most of what he’d found was that it was a closely guarded pack ritual, suspected to vary between packs. He was pretty sure that sticking him under the floorboards wasn’t the way the Hales had traditionally done things. He hadn’t paid any attention to the aftermath of that night, had been too focused on the darkness and the terror and the fire and the blood. Stiles kind of wished he had, that he’d thought through the aftermath of Derek ripping his uncle’s throat out, but he hadn’t.

And then he remembered Laura, and how him and Scott had dug her up.

“That’s not what we- not how we bury people.” Derek said, quietly. “Is that why he-”

Stiles shook his head, and then answered aloud, since Derek had his eyes shut still. “No. Theories range from unfinished business, to evil in the person when they were alive, to demonic possession type stuff.” It might not even be Peter in there, but Stiles wasn’t going to offer that theory if he wasn’t _absolutely_ certain.

Derek nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “The whole pack does it, digs the grave, and then, well, you saw Laura’s grave. The rope, the wolf.”

Stiles bit his tongue. “I’m sorry about that.”

Derek blinked his eyes open to look at him, and then away into the woods. “It wasn’t right anyway, with just me doing it.” His hand clenched hard around Stiles’.

God, it hurt like hell to imagine Derek, all alone in the woods, beside the corpse of his childhood home and his entire pack, digging a grave and weaving wolfsbane into rope, laying it out into that spiral pattern. Stiles didn’t want to think about what the wolfsbane must have done to his hands, considering quite how much the stuff just being in the Jeep had fucked with Scott.

Stiles ran his thumb along the back of Derek’s hand, half wanting to scoot closer but not daring.

“Come on,” He said, after a while, pushing up to his knees and then all the way to his feet, tugging Derek up with him. “Here and now, you and me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Derek said, quietly, standing up and quickly pressing his face into Stiles’ neck, before straightening, pulling his posture into something less defeated, less wracked with grief. “Let’s see what- what the pack’s been up to.”

Stiles nodded, walking alongside him back towards the house and the pack. He’d need to check on the grave, open the thing up and see what there was, if anything, but not now, and definitely not with Derek. He could talk Scott into it, he knew that, and spare Derek the experience of ransacking his uncle’s grave on a reconnaissance mission, even if he couldn’t spare him the ugliness of the rest of it.

They took a short break, and then Lydia produced a case of glass bottles filled with dangerous liquids from the trunk of her car and claimed Isaac and Erica to be her lab assistants. Derek didn’t complain or argue, not just because she was making flammable things that he didn’t want thrown at him.

Instead, he pulled Scott aside to talk strategy. He figured the best way to go about things was for them to pair up, one wolf on offence and another to watch their back. Scott agreed to that, but narrowed his eyes when he heard that Derek was putting Allison, Lydia, and Stiles together and leaving himself solo, at least in his ideal version of the upcoming fights.

“Allison can kick ass,” Scott frowned, tilting his chin up. “So can Lydia. Stiles I’m more okay with you sidelining, but, come on, _Allison_?”

“I thought I’d have to convince you to put her in the line of fire,” Derek shrugged, and Scott snorted.

“Allison’s a badass and I don’t tell her what to do any more than she tells me what to do. Well, okay, she does do that, and it’s pretty great.” Scott’s face took on a decidedly dreamy quality, and Derek didn’t need werewolf senses to tell where his mind was going.

“I’m not sidelining anyone.” Derek cut in, hoping to keep Scott from going further down _that_ mental rabbit hole. “They’re best at range, and so they’ll fight from there. Give Stiles space to do whatever he does.”

“Ah.” Scott nodded with understanding. Then he paused, glancing over his shoulder at the pack, at Lydia’s makeshift lab, at Stiles clearly running Allison and Boyd through his research. Scott looked back at Derek. “If I get a shot at Peter, do I have your permission to take it?”

Derek blinked, a “I didn’t know you needed my permission for anything,” out of his mouth before he could think. He shook his head, raising a hand, hoping Scott would give him a second. Scott, unlike the version of him Derek had known a year ago, nodded, eyes firm but not challenging.

“It won’t make you an alpha, and it won’t cure you.” Derek said, finally.

“I know. That’s not what I’m asking.”

Derek sucked in a breath at that. So he’d been right, Scott really was asking because this was Derek’s uncle, the last of his family, and in a lot of ways, his own responsibility. He screwed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again, Scott was still there, shoulders set, jaw strong, everything about him sturdy, and this was a Scott he’d only rarely seen, only ever in interactions with Stiles or Allison.

But it was different, too, a clear understanding of responsibility, of the weight on his shoulders, and an acceptance of it, a willingness to carry it. “Yeah.” Derek forced out, steadying himself. “We can’t afford to miss any opportunities.”

Scott glanced back over at the pack, in no way subtle. Derek didn’t want to kill Peter, didn’t want to have anyone _but_ him kill Peter, but there were lives on the line. Not just unknown strangers, but his pack, stumbling its way into a togetherness that made Derek’s heart sing with how much it hurt.

“You’ve settled into your wolf.” Derek said, still looking at the pack.

“Yeah.” Scott shrugged. “I have. I am.” And then he lightened the mood a little by nudging his shoulder against Derek’s and grinning lopsidedly. “Good thing, too, since I’m apparently your second, and it’s not like _that’s_ an easy job.”

Derek growled at him, no heat behind it, and Scott laughed. Derek lunged for him, then, because Scott was his second and they were about to get into some really nasty fights and so he should have more training, not at all because he would enjoy slamming Scott’s face into the dirt. Not in the slightest.

The training, the sparring, whatever he should be calling it, it was going okay. Erica and Boyd had always synced up well, her aggressiveness matching with his deadly patience, and Scott and Isaac, once he’d managed to pull the latter away from being Lydia’s lab assistant, had clearly been bonding well. Lydia, of course, wasn’t happy at him taking Erica away, either, but apparently Isaac had perfectly steady hands, or something, so he’d been the one she had complained about.

Derek didn’t really have time to care or to think about it, since he was setting each pair to attacking him, hoping that they’d be able to get good at attacking a larger, stronger opponent as a team, and that that would transfer over to killing the vrykolakases.

There were at least two, though they didn’t know much about that part of things. He turned plans over in his head as he ducked a blow from Erica, launching a counter and feeling a click of satisfaction when Boyd was there to block it for her. Taking on Peter as well as a second opponent would be a disaster, in all likelihood, and Peter would know that.

Erica swiped at his feet, almost managing to knock them out from under him, and while he was still on the back foot, Boyd pressed forwards, with a blow Derek only barely managed to block. So there would be no chance they could get to Peter alone, without the other vrykolokas, because Peter wasn’t stupid.

Derek sprung backwards, and then Scott was there, grinning and swiping at him. Erica snarled and lunged in too, and Derek ducked, throwing his shoulder into Scott’s midsection to hopefully clear himself some space, but Isaac was there, cracking an elbow down into his back, making sure to punish Derek for the attack.

So they’d have to go after the unknown vrykolakas first, without the advantage of a Sunday trapping it in its grave. Derek wheezed and dragged Isaac down with him, who just rolled with it. Damn, Derek had been somewhat counting on him flailing and struggling to buy himself some time and space before Erica and Scott’s inevitable counterattacks, but they were on him immediately.

Scott pressed his claws to Derek’s jugular, a warning, a victory. Derek tilted his head in a nod and let himself go lax, and then Erica was crowing victory, wiggling her hips.

“Good work,” Derek said, pushing himself up off the grass and offering Isaac a hand. “Rolling with the tackle was good, I was hoping you’d cause more chaos, buy me some time.”

Isaac brightened, taking his hand and bouncing to his feet. “Thanks.”

“You up for another round?” Scott asked, glancing at Derek.

He was about to agree, but Stiles shouted from over by the house. “Think we’ve got something!”

Derek looked over to him, and shrugged, leading the wolves back towards their little makeshift research center.

“Lydia managed to hack into the hunter’s radios, phones, whichever, and they just lost a vrykolakas in the warehouse district.” Stiles said, leaning over Lydia and grinning at her when she rolled her eyes. “Pretty sure it’s not Peter, so it’s our second gross ass motherfucker.”

Derek nodded. “We should take that one out, before we go after Peter. I’d like to do it on a Sunday, but that’d give him a full week before we could go after _him_ , and-”

“And he’ll do some fucking awful shit in the meantime and set up traps or something, and I’m not here for that,” Stiles cut in, slapping his hand against a map. “So, kiddos, choices are hope for a chance later, or go right the fuck now.”

“I could do now,” Scott nodded, stretching out his shoulders, his arms.

“You think it’ll move?” Derek asked, taking a second to grab a bottle of water.

Stiles shrugged, flipping a pencil around in his hand. “Hunters think it’s gone, but I’m not sure. Could be there all night, hiding out, so we might even have some time. But.” Stiles looked at Derek, meeting his gaze.

“But why wait.” Derek nodded, taking a long gulp of water. “Okay, stretch up, let’s get going.” The pack started moving, Allison stepping up to Scott and asking him something, but Derek just pressed closer to Stiles, peering at his map.

“I’m not sure what, if anything, Peter can get through the pack bond. We need to move fast.” He said, close up against Stiles’ side.

Delightfully, Stiles leaned back into the contact, and flicked his pencil in the air, somehow managing to catch it. “You think we’re ready?”

Derek shrugged, and looked over his shoulder. Allison was saying something to Scott and Isaac about giving her good targets, Lydia was leaning close to Erica and tracing a line on her neck, and Boyd was starting in on loading molotovs into each car. “Yeah.” He said, but the glance he shared with Stiles said ‘we have to be’.

Stiles nodded and tipped his head back into a simultaneously awkward and delicious angle for a kiss, and then he was moving, bundling papers together and helping Boyd with bottles. Derek watched him go, and then he blinked, and Boyd was next to him, tilting his head towards Stiles’ Jeep.

“Everyone’s already ready to go.” He said, and then quirked an eyebrow. “You got a little distracted there, huh?”

Derek scowled, and Boyd chuckled, and then they were in Stiles’ Jeep and heading out after Lydia’s car, Stiles tapping a frantic rhythm on his steering wheel.

“Lydia has the address,” Stiles said, as they got out of the quiet dirt paths that led up to the Hale House and onto proper roads. “So we’re just following her. Warehouse district, an abandoned one not far from Jungle.”

“Just like old times,” Derek muttered, and Stiles laughed, not pausing his tapping.

“Look,” He said, after a moment, glancing at Boyd in the back and then shrugging. Derek made an inquiring noise, and Stiles wrinkled his nose, but continued. “It’s said that if we don’t kill the vrykolakas before it’s in its second period of forty days, which is a greek burial thing, but the timing still might matter, if we don’t kill it by then- it’s basically nearly a god. Or just really impossible to kill.”

“And Peter died a year and a half ago,” Derek found himself saying, fists clenching by his knees. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Stiles sighed, and shifted gears. “I don’t know how true it is, or how relevant it is, like, none of my sources mentioned the power-stealing, but everything fits too perfectly, so.”

“So we hope it’s just greek burial customs. Unless there’s anything we can do?”

Stiles shook his head, biting his lip. “Even if the second one isn’t Hayes, I think they died recently enough to be less than forty days old, at least.”

Derek nodded, brain whirring helplessly. He shared a glance with Stiles, who looked just as worried as he felt. “We’ll deal with it.” He said, not out of any conviction, just because it needed to be said, and it had to be him to say it.

Stiles hissed out a breath, and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Anyway, we’re close.”

Derek quietly stared out the window as they crept between warehouses, getting out almost as soon as Stiles had pulled the car to a full stop and making space for Boyd to follow him. Scott had apparently jumped out of Lydia’s car just as quickly, and there was a squeak as he wrapped Stiles up into a hug.

Derek frowned, and then looked around them. This part of the warehouse district was always quiet, rundown, a remnant of past industry that had long since moved overseas. Then he jumped as Scott stepped up to him and pulled him into a hug, stiffening. After a heartbeat, Derek relaxed into it, uncertain but surprisingly okay with whatever Scott was up to.

“Pack bond,” He muttered, letting Derek go, clearly seeing the confusion on his face. Derek nodded slightly, processing it. Yeah, it made sense that Scott had picked up on the spike of dread he and Stiles had shared, and it was good, _really_ good, that he was doing something about it.

“Right.” Lydia said, voice low, hushed. “We want to head generally east from here, I assume fanning out.”

Derek nodded, and she smiled quickly, before arming her taser. He glanced around, making sure everyone was ready, and then set his shoulders, his senses unfurling. “Spread out, cover more ground, but don’t get too far. Bait it out, but don’t get caught out alone.”

And so, they split off, ducking down little alleyways. Derek could hear all of their heartbeats still, though some just barely, and even if someone on the outer edge got in trouble, someone who was closer would hear.

And, of course, there was the pack bond. Derek was just swinging himself up an ancient fire escape to get a peek inside a warehouse when there was a huge jolt of adrenaline down the bond, surprise narrowed down to a fine, dangerous point.

He sprung off of it with a rusty clatter, kicking up into a sprint towards the most elevated heartbeats, towards the crackle of a taser, a snarl that had to be Erica.

He didn’t even have time to worry, because he was on them in a second, just in time to distract the vrykolakas, the twisted decaying thing, from making another lunge at Lydia. She smelled faintly of blood, but Derek didn’t have the time for that.

Launching himself at the vrykolakas, he swiped out, barely managing to get an arm up to block its blow in time. That meant his swing didn’t connect, either, but he could hear Scott flying into the old parking lot, and the rest of the pack close by.

Derek snarled at the monster, and yeah, there was no way this was the one that was Peter, because he would never have fallen for that trick, easily distracted by Derek so that Scott could leap at its back, digging in with his claws.

The vrykolakas twisted, such an extreme movement that it almost looked like it had no spine, and sliced at Scott, forcing him to let go, but Derek was there a heartbeat later, pressing in for an advantage. He raked his claws down it, and then sprung away, cautious of its answering sharp swipes.

Scott pulled himself up, and then the two of them leapt for it again, simultaneously, Scott nearly severing whatever remained of its achilles tendon while Derek barely grazed its calf. The thing was _fast_ , brutal, had nearly managed to dodge them completely.

Scott tipped a chin at him, and Derek growled in response, snapping his head around to follow where the vrykolakas had leapt off to. Isaac cut it off, followed by a deadly shot from Allison, coming close to Isaac’s outstretched arm but only sinking into the monster, straight through its elbow.

She was aiming to slow it down, Derek realised, since they didn’t know if a normal killshot would bring it down, or if she could even land one with how fast it was. He lunged forwards again, drawing its attention and taking a nasty kick to the knee for his trouble, but that bought Scott time to fucking punch it in the head. Sure.

He forced his weight to settle on the knee that had been kicked, ignoring the twang of pain, and while he did that, the vrykolakas made to spring. Derek’s mind worked too slow, or maybe it was his body, but it managed to slice its claws right up Scott’s stomach, sending blood spurting everywhere.

Derek got there just in time to keep it from clawing him again, from deepening the wounds, but Scott would need a minute. “Erica!” He yelled, even as huge claws knocked his face to the side, just managing to catch its wrist with claws of his own.

Erica flung herself into the fray, immediately intercepting the vrykolakas as it leapt for Boyd, who was boosting Allison up to a higher vantage point. She caught the blow directly to her ribcage with a sick crunch and a yelp. Derek felt his blood boil, lunging forwards, but Erica was already bringing up her knee, planting herself and tearing open the side of the thing’s throat.

The monster must have been scared, or at least trying to get the hell out of dodge, because it didn’t move to punish Derek for his next swing with a counterattack, just flung itself towards the alleyway Isaac was blocking the entrance of, and again, Erica threw herself in the way.

She fought exactly like he did, he realised, with a sick twist to his stomach. Willing to block brutal hits, make attacks that all but guaranteed painful retribution, a total disregard for her safety in deference to the goal at hand. And man, did _that_ fucking hurt.

This time, though, she didn’t just take the hit, because Stiles had apparently tossed a bottle to her, which she promptly smashed over the vrykolakas, igniting it immediately, Isaac only barely managing to pull her out of the worst of the blast of fire.

The vrykolokas _burned_ , twisting and clawing at itself, and Derek couldn’t fucking breathe as the thing went up like a living torch. The stench of rot and death was one thing, but burning, searing flesh, that was something altogether different. He hunched forwards, unable to take his eyes off of the screaming _thing_ , his wolf struggling up against him, scrabbling for the relief of four paws and fur and dampened emotions.

The fire dimmed for a second, and another bottle smashed into it, and it erupted again, renewed, as the figure engulfed in it all sunk to the ground, a sick thump, its lungs making awful, horrible noises that Derek was sure he’d have nightmares about.

The fire died down as the vrykolakas collapsed, smoking awfully. Derek stayed frozen, shoulders shaking, trying to keep the shift back, trying not to lose himself to it.

“Fuck yeah, that was a good shot!” Stiles yelled, and then hurried to press a rag back against Scott’s bleeding stomach. “Nice fuckin’ work, guys, god damn.”

The vrykolakas twitched at that, and there were slavering jaws, even more blackened than before, and Derek could see it bracing itself for another spring. The wounded, the dying, sometimes tried to take someone out with them, once they realised what was happening. Stiles had his back half turned to it, resettling his focus on stopping Scott’s bleeding.

Derek felt like a train was crashing into him.

And then Boyd was there, jumping in behind the vrykolakas, wrenching its arms back, pulling it upright, as the thing struggled weakly. Boyd snarled and held firm, even as claws found his wrists, as flames licked at his skin, and that right there was a perfect target for any marksman, let alone an Allison Argent given a good vantage point and time to prepare.

An arrow shot straight through its skull, poking out the other side, and then another to its throat, where Erica had mauled it not seconds before. Isaac sprung forwards, and finally, _finally_ Derek could move, and between the two of them and Boyd’s firm hold, they wrenched the poor thing to pieces, gruesome with blood and ash and the pervasive smell of rot, even above all the accelerants and the smouldering flesh.

That done, Derek tipped back to sit on the floor, catching his breath.

“Heartbeat?” Lydia asked, looking at Erica with another molotov at the ready.

“No, we’re good.” She answered, holding her ribs and wincing. Derek forced himself up and over to her- all those cracked ribs would be a nightmare, one he had a lot of relevant experience with. He would help her, and then check on Scott, on everyone else, and then they’d clean up the scene and get a brief respite before doing it all again with Peter in two days' time.

It felt like a weird switch in momentum, in the tension of it all, but Stiles needed to see his dad, in part to stop Dad from worrying, in part to stop himself from doing the same. Of course, he had no idea what Dad would think of him bringing Scott and Allison to dinner- Scott made sense, they’d spent their entire childhood at each others’ houses, but the both of them?

It was easy, though, comfortably familiar, Scott explaining Stiles not having been home practically all week as the two of them needing time to catch up, and Stiles kicking him under the table when it looked like his limited ability to lie was faltering. Having Allison there was a godsend, really, because she filled in for Scott perfectly, laughing with Stiles’ dad about the two of them falling on their asses while playing lacrosse.

His dad kept grinning, looking a lot less worried than Stiles had seen him for, fuck, over a year. Stiles could see the lines of worry worn deep in his face, and hated it. So many of those must be his fault, and he had no idea how his dad had been doing while Stiles was gone. Scott caught his eye and raised his eyebrows, and Stiles shrugged, letting himself get drawn back into the conversation.

Allison ended up tangling her fingers with his for the latter half of the meal when Stiles couldn’t stop fidgeting and checking his phone for emergency texts, trapping his hand under the table so his dad wouldn’t see, and it was kind of awkward but also not at all.

After they’d all finished eating, a simple chili that was more beans than meat, they all trooped upstairs, and Stiles caught his dad’s eyebrows raising when Allison skipped up them just as easily and naturally as Scott ever had. Well, shit, if his dad thought he was having a threesome thing with Scott and his kinda-sorta-ex-girlfriend, then fuck it. At least that way he wouldn’t look into what was actually going on, where he’d been the past several days. And if they made it through it all, he could come up with a better excuse later.

Stiles whipped out his laptop, getting straight to work, happily tuning out the murmuring of Scott and Allison getting settled behind him. He took a moment to fire off a text to Derek asking how everyone was, and couldn’t help but smile when he got a photo of an impressively long takeout receipt in response.

He didn’t even really have any research left to do, had sifted through almost everything there was, so what was left was rereading things and setting Allison on sifting through her family’s old bestiary.

“Any of you able to summon lightning?” Stiles turned to ask, after about an hour, and Scott laughed, shaking his head and wiggling his fingers weirdly.

Allison shook her head with a soft little smile, pressed up next to Scott on Stiles’ bed. “No can do, sorry.”

Stiles shrugged, and the room lapsed into silence for a moment. He should turn around, get back to work, but something possessed him to stay put.

“You ready to do this?” He asked, eventually. Sure, they’d just killed a vrykolakas, but killing undead monster Peter Hale was a whole different ballpark, for multiple reasons.

Scott snorted, barely a laugh, and shook his head. “Not really.”

“We’ll do it.” Allison said, resting a hand on Scott’s arm and looking up at Stiles. “We’ll do it,” She repeated, a little brighter but no less firm.

Stiles stared at her, and she just shrugged. “We haven’t really got any alternative.”

Stiles bit his lip, and couldn’t help but quietly agree. Either they murdered Peter, again, or he killed more people, likely at least one of the pack. Killing the other vrykolakas had been- it had been mostly adrenaline and fear and then explosive fire, and he hadn’t really had much space in his head for anything other than Scott’s blood coating his hands.

“No, we’ll do it.” Scott nodded, earnest as ever.

He drew in a breath, and nodded. “Yeah. We gotta.”

“And so we’ll do it.” Scott made it sound simple, straightforward, a foregone conclusion that they’d get out of this nightmare intact. Stiles couldn’t help but smile at him, at his dumb little face, and managed to get himself back to work. There was an interesting passage about a wolf church defeating a vrykolakas that he wanted to reread.

After a bit, Allison slipped off to go to the bathroom, and Scott bounded up behind him as soon as the door clicked shut.

“Dude!” He breathed, grinning at Stiles. “She agreed to getting coffee after all this is over.”

“Yeah?” Stiles tilted his head, tearing his eyes away from the screen.

“Yeah, she’s- we’re gonna take it slow, but things are good.” Scott still looked as dreamy as ever, but as Stiles looked at him, he saw how he’d changed over the year away, away from Beacon Hills and monsters and magical fuckin’ love connections. “She still like, _wants_ me!”

Stiles snorted. “Dude, you’re buff as hell, and totally adorable. You’re a catch.”

“I am!” Scott grinned brightly. “Speaking of a _catch_ , though-”

Stiles groaned and put his head in his hands. He knew this was coming, even with as dense and oblivious Scott could be.

“Derek, huh?”

Stiles whined into his hands. “I don’t know, we haven’t talked about it. He’s- It’s- good.”

Scott slapped his back. “Don’t worry, I already gave him the shovel talk.”

“ _Scott!_ ” Stiles yelped, managing to look at him. Scott was grinning like the devil he was. “Look, I haven’t even- I don’t know if he-”

“Wants to date you?” Allison asked, making Stiles jump halfway out of his skin.

“Jesus, Allison!” He yelped, whirling around in his chair and nearly knocking it over. “You’re some kind of creepy assassin, holy shit.”

He flinched as soon as the words came out of his mouth. “I mean, uh, you’re a lovely nice person who owns a normal amount of knives?”

Allison raised her eyebrows, but didn’t look offended, thankfully. Scott, for his part, seemed to be going a little glassy-eyed at the mention of Allison with knives, so he was no use.

“I don’t know werewolf culture from the same angle as you do, but you can’t convince me you don’t know what’s going on there.” She said, walking over to her bag and tucking a toothbrush away.

Stiles scowled. “It’s not like, formal, or anything. It’s not like we’re weird traditionalists doing weird wolfy courting rituals.”

Scott snorted beside him, and Stiles reached out to smack him without thinking.

“But,” Allison said, curling back up in Stiles’ bed.

“But nothing!” Stiles spluttered, waving his hands about. “I’m not talking boys with you!”

“As long as I’m best man at your magical werewolf wedding,” Scott snickered, dodging away from Stiles’ punch.

“Fuck you!” Stiles flailed at him, and Scott just grinned.

“Nah. You’re not my type.”

Stiles sighed dramatically, tipping his head up at the ceiling. “When will it _end_?”

“I’ll make you a deal.” Scott said, and Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. This couldn’t go well. “I’ll shut up about you and Derek, and I’ll even promise not to threaten him on your behalf any more, if you stop reading latin and get some sleep.”

“It’s greek.” Stiles said automatically, and Allison laughed. “But, fucking, god, I’ve got shit to do!”

“We know how to kill a vrykolakas,” Allison offered, tugging the covers over herself. “And we have a plan, and a whole day left to polish it.”

Stiles sighed, and looked at Scott imploringly. Scott shrugged. He sighed again. “Okay, but I’m gonna set an alarm for 6 and neither of you are gonna complain.”

Scott grinned at him, and Stiles dragged his hands down his face. They were right, probably, but it just didn’t feel right, sleeping while there was still a monster prowling the city, stalking his pack. Maybe he could lie down for long enough for both of them to fall asleep, and then get back up?

After he stumbled his way through getting ready for bed, he ended up tangled up against Allison, the three of them squished into his too-small bed. Fuck knew what his dad would think about _that_.

It was good, though, warm and comforting, Allison reaching out a hand to tangle it with Stiles’, Scott offering him a sleepy smile from her other side. He’d get up again in a minute, he swore, it was just so warm and comforting and safe under the covers-

The next thing Stiles was aware of was a world of pain, sharp and fierce, right through his gut. He flailed, tangling himself in the covers, and there was an arm holding him still, and he thrashed for a moment before he realised what was going on. Scott was sat up in his bed, Allison gripping both of their arms, eyes wide.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Stiles muttered, stilling and running a hand down his torso, just to check.

“Pack bond.” Scott said, slipping easily out of bed and tugging his jeans back on. “Go time. Allison, you have everything, right?”

Allison nodded, and oh, _fun!_ That was a knife in her hand!

Stiles sat there hyperventilating as Allison got up and slung a crossbow across her back, lacing up her sturdy boots, staring unseeing as bursts of pain screamed down the pack bond.

“Stiles!” Scott barked, voice barely above a whisper, just as a spike of fear came down the bond too.

Stiles shook himself and threw himself up and out, shoving on his shoes and grabbing the keys to the Jeep. Half of Lydia’s molotovs were in there already, along with his werewolf-ified first aid kit, thankfully, so there wasn’t much else he needed to grab. Still, he glanced around the room as he tugged his shoes on, crushing down the heel in his haste, but he didn’t think any of his books would help at this point.

“Come on.” Scott tugged him forwards, sneaking open Stiles’ door and stepping out, carefully picking his way along the hallway, avoiding creaky floorboards with a grace that came half from experience, and half from werewolfiness.

Stiles followed him, Allison close at his back, a safe presence. They were in the Jeep what seemed like moments later, and he gunned it, not caring about waking up the neighbours.

“Derek’s loft?” He asked, and Scott nodded.

It was a tense, frantic drive, the sky lightening in pre-dawn, both Scott and Allison staring out the windows, scanning for danger, for Peter. Stiles didn’t notice much beyond the blessedly empty road, the shaking of his fingers on the wheel.

By the time he screeched up outside the loft, he’d pulled himself mostly together, dread and worry turning him sharp, deadly focused. Allison passed him a molotov as she got out, and he swung the strap of the first aid kit over his shoulder, Scott already sprinting up the stairs with unnatural speed.

Stiles nearly dropped his molotov when he got into the loft, nearly sending the whole place up into flames. Isaac was on the couch, where he must have fallen asleep, and Lydia was sat on his thighs, soaked in blood as she fucking held his guts inside him with sickly red hands.

“Derek went off without us-” Erica snarled at Scott in a rush, eyes gleaming gold.

Stiles sprinted over to Isaac, tugging out huge gauze pads and carefully sliding them under Lydia’s fingers.

“I’m working on tracking his phone.” Boyd said, as Isaac whined and gasped.

“Shit, shit, _shit!_ ” Stiles muttered, about a second away from begging the werewolf gods for Isaac’s healing to hurry up.

“Track him by scent,” Allison said, along with the unmistakable sound of her loading her crossbow. “Come on-”

“Not until Isaac’s stopped spilling his _fucking_ organs everywhere!” Stiles cut her off, not looking away from the bloody mess. “I’m not leaving him here alone, so he needs to be able to walk.”

“Just- gimme a minute-” Isaac wheezed, making the mess of his stomach move worryingly. Stiles just added more pressure, glancing at Lydia, who was thankfully just as focused. Derek would just have to wait, as much as Stiles wanted to rush straight to him and make sure he was okay. 

The pain was nearly all-consuming. Part of it was from Isaac, down the pack bond, but Derek’s arms were slick with blood from blocking blow after blow from Peter. There was a nasty gash sparking down the back of one of his legs, and he could barely hear anything over his own thunderous heartbeat, but he’d managed to lure Peter away from the loft, away from the pack.

He hadn’t planned further than that, but he’d _needed_ to get Peter away from Isaac. He’d been crouched on him just like he had with the werewolf in the woods, and had split him open with his claws when Derek had stumbled in, practically eviscerating him. But Isaac would be fine, he had to keep believing that. Derek had healed from worse before, but just barely.

The monster- _Peter_ \- leapt at him again, and it was all Derek could do to whirl around with the attack, keep him away from his neck. They were pretty sure that was how he’d stolen Derek’s and then Erica’s wolves, and so far, the tactic seemed to be working, in that Derek still had the shift. If he lost his strength, his speed, his healing, he’d be screwed, worse than he already was.

He was increasingly becoming convinced that Peter had just been toying with him, that first night, moving slower, letting him dodge out of the way, because he was barely managing to keep in the fight, even with all his alpha power in him.

Derek was tiring, despite everything, kept on the defensive by a faster, more agile, more deadly opponent. All he could do was fight, keep throwing himself out of the way, and hope that he’d bought the pack enough time.

He whipped his head around, trying to find Peter in the thin tree cover, dark and ominous with the moon hidden behind clouds.

“Laura wouldn’t want it like this.” Hissed a voice from the trees, ragged and inhuman, unearthly, like it came from vocal cords that weren’t supposed to be there. And still, somehow, unmistakably Peter.

Derek snarled up in his direction, springing out of the way when Peter dropped down at him, sharp claws grazing his back.

Laura had died like this.

Not in these exact woods, by these trees, this creek, but close. In the dark, alone, hunted by her only remaining uncle. Derek hadn’t been there then, so nobody was there for him now.

Would he slice Derek in half, scatter the pieces across the forest? Would he become the alpha again, new, horrifying monster that he was?

Derek darted away from another spring, taking a kick to the face in exchange for the opportunity to swipe at Peter, desperation giving him fury, strength, as it always seemed to. This was it, him, alone in the woods, and only one Hale would be leaving.

He used a tree to springboard away from the next attack, but _Peter_ had taught him that move, a lifetime of summers ago. Peter didn’t lag behind for a second, tearing into Derek’s arm with vicious teeth, and like this, Derek could just barely make out his uncle’s face through all the decay and rot and rancid _meat_.

He managed to tear himself away, leaving a chunk of his forearm wedged between Peter’s teeth. _Fuck_ , this was going terribly, and he’d been expecting that, of course, but somehow he was eternally suprised by _just_ how shitty things could get.

As if to prove that point, enough moonlight peeked through the trees for Derek to see Peter, crouched low to the ground, jaw wide in what could only be described as a grin. Peter’s eyes caught his, and he traced a claw across his throat, where Derek had ripped him open, spilled his blood all over their old front lawn.

He could taste blood in his mouth, thick and metallic. Logically, he knew it was his own, but he couldn’t help but feel like it was all Peter’s, coating his hands and his throat and his very fucking being.

Derek managed to keep himself on his feet, dashing away, because what the fuck else was he going to do? Peter let out a sick version of a howl, throaty and meaty, and Derek felt like the ground was going to open up and swallow him whole.

He ducked and skittered out of the way of another deadly lunge, just narrowly avoiding Peter getting his claws in his throat, and then, like a fucking _miracle_ , there was a pulse of feeling through the pack bond. It was like a desperate engine revving up, adrenaline and action and worry, and Derek’s eyes flashed red involuntarily, a gleaming bright spot in the dim.

Peter lunged for him again, but this time Derek was spurred on by the thrumming of the bond, beating in counterpoint to his own racing heartbeat. He kicked off in the direction of the loft, shaking off the clinging despair. If he got back to the pack in time, they might stand a fighting chance together.

Branches whipped across him, and he leaped from side to side, ducking and skidding away from Peter’s clutches. He was leaving a trail of blood, his healing far from being able to compensate for it all, and he was still moving painfully slow.

His head spun as he leapt over a little rise, and Peter snagged his ankle, nearly tearing straight through it. Derek bit back a howl, twisting to slice at Peter and get himself free, pushing through the agony of putting weight back on that foot with all the stubbornness he had.

Peter must have guessed he was trying to get back, or at least run somewhere, so going for his ankles was a good move. Derek threw his arms up to take the brunt of another attack, not trusting his ability to dodge away, and his ruined ankle _screamed_ as he kept himself from being knocked over.

He flung himself between two more trees, breath coming out as a series of whines, and there, just barely distinguishable above all the pain, were a few distant heartbeats. Derek should howl, should give them something solid to head towards, but he didn’t dare take the time, the breath, too precarious on the knife’s edge of Peter’s endless lunges and vicious swipes.

Derek managed to kick out at Peter, the blow connecting solidly, but doing more damage to himself than to the vrykolakas. He ignored the pain, the way his foot could barely take any of his weight anymore, and hurled himself through the trees.

A yell of “Left!” from Scott was his prize for forcing himself onwards, and Derek tossed himself around a tree, dodging a swipe from Peter just in time for Boyd to lunge at him, sinking his claws deep and sending them both tumbling away.

Derek righted himself with a wince, panting, as Erica launched herself into the fray, seamlessly in sync with Boyd. Scott skidded up next to him, eyes blazing gold. There was the sound of one of Allison’s arrows sinking into a tree, and Derek exchanged a look with Scott.

The plan had been for Derek to take point, to take the brunt of Peter’s attacks, since he was the fastest, the sturdiest, the best fighter, and so stood the best chance of it, but as it stood, he was injured, weak, slow. He stared at Scott for a heartbeat, took in the set of his jaw, his shoulders, the steady, furious certainty in his eyes, and nodded.

“Take point.” Derek panted, not bothering to hide his exhaustion. Scott blinked in what looked like surprise, and nodded. “Do whatever it takes.”

Scott grinned, and sprung away, calling out to the others, Isaac flitting out from the trees to cover his back. Derek hoped against hope that Scott had some fucking trick up his sleeve like he always seemed to. Another wolf might’ve patted a molotov in his pocket, offered some indication of a plan, some reassurance, but not Scott.

Derek gritted his teeth and set his ankle, nearly biting through his own lip at the sick crunch of agony. His elbow screamed as he did, and he grabbed at it, taking in Stiles breaking into the clearing at a run, Allison and Lydia at a slight distance, weapons hopefully at the ready.

Scott roared in pain, and Erica must’ve lunged forwards to block some of the hit, because there was a yelp and a thump as she was tossed away. Derek felt like he was rooted to the spot, like instead of his ankle knitting back together, it was weaving itself into the dirt. He watched Scott stagger forwards, Peter’s teeth glinting in the obscured moonlight.

Scott moved at the last second, slamming his hand up, smashing a molotov and narrowly avoiding Peter’s teeth ripping his throat out. They both burst into flames, and Derek couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t process the strange crackle-hiss cutting through the roar of the fire, until Isaac dashed past and tackled Scott.

Isaac still _reeked_ of blood, had bandages hurriedly taped around him, but still, he managed to drag Scott away, leaving Peter to burn, _again_. The spitting noise resolved itself into the sound of electricity, arcs jolting from the modified taser that fell out of Scott’s hand.

Derek whined, barely conscious of the noise, as he watched his uncle up in flames, writhing, juddering.

And then Peter was throwing himself forwards, despite the fire and the electrocution, and the jolt of realising he was headed for their ranged fighters was enough to get Derek able to move again.

Peter was blackened and horrifying and warped even more than before, and Derek caught him in a tackle before he could reach Allison or Lydia or _Stiles_. They landed wrong, a tangle of sharp and pain and a ripping up Derek’s thigh, a horrifying deadly tear. Artery, a major one. Worth it.

Stiles screamed as Derek threw himself in the path of a burning, almost still sparking Peter, a nonsensical noise, and it was only his knowledge of his own physical inferiority that kept him from trying to physically pull the vrykolakas off Derek himself. Boyd and Erica would be there in a second, she’d been managing to get up from the tree she’d hit at full speed, but in a second, Peter could do a lot of fucking damage.

“No you _fucking_ don’t!” He yelled, pulling out a small vial he’d pocketed for desperate emergencies, hurling it at Peter’s horrific back with all the force he had. Holy water, purchased from the internet a few months ago, with a solid helping of table salt sprinkled in, just in case.

Whether it worked, he didn’t know, but Peter looked up, and Derek managed to slash out at him, getting a little distance, and then Erica was there, snarling fury, doing everything she could to earn Peter’s ire.

He was too good, too strong, had been alive too long, like he’d feared. Peter was deadly beyond belief, yelps and snarls and sick crunches coming from the fighting wolves, and Stiles threw himself forwards, wrenching off his hoodie and holding it to Derek’s leg where it was straight up _gushing_ blood in horrifying spurts. Bad, bad, _bad_.

There was a crack of a gunshot, too fucking close, and Stiles shouldn’t be turning his back to the fight, should be working out some way to fucking _solve_ this, _something_ , but if he took his hands off Derek’s ruined leg, he’d fucking bleed out in moments.

Derek, for his part, was snarling, face unreadable in the dark.

“Erica, down!” Allison yelled, followed by a howl and a fucking _unearthly_ noise that Stiles could only hope was from Peter.

“Oh, you motherfucker, fucking _heal_ already!” Stiles hissed, reaching up to slap Derek in the face. Derek snapped at him, no real aggression.

Stiles spared a moment to glance over his shoulder, and wished he hadn’t. Scott had pulled himself back up, despite having _been on fire_ literally only moments ago, and seemed to be bearing the brunt of the vrykolakas' merciless attacks.

All of the wolves were horrifically wounded, from what little he could see, and Peter was still fighting just as hard as ever, even after all they’d thrown at him. An arrow grazed his skull, inches away from going straight into his fucking _brain_ , and even that didn’t stop him from raking his claws across Scott’s face.

Oh god, was this it? Was this where they fucking died? Stiles whipped back to look at Derek, at the blood that was fucking _everywhere_ , and saw the same sick horror all over his face.

They fucking died here. All of them. Outmatched, hopelessly.

Stiles had done all the research he could’ve, but books and google couldn’t stand up against an evil demon undead werewolf vrykolakas.

Stiles’ breath caught, his heart practically freezing in his chest. A _wolf_.

He lunged forwards, pinning a knee on Derek’s thigh to keep pressure on the wound as he clutched at him desperately, one hand finding its way to the back of his neck.

“And the wolf would go and eat the vrykolakas,” He breathed, eyes wide. There was another yelp and crack of a gunshot behind him, but he couldn’t look away from Derek. Everything was pain and panic and adrenaline, but holy shit, could he- would it-

Derek tried to shake Stiles off, eyebrows drawing together, and Stiles just shook his head, drawing him closer, until he was almost sitting up with Stiles still braced on top of him.

He felt like something unreal, out of body, like what he imagined dying moments might be like.

“You let him take your wolf.” Stiles whispered, over the screams and crunches of the fight. They were losing, and it was a hunch, barely more than a guess. Derek stared at him, and Stiles hated himself for this, a whole fucking lot, that he was going to ask this of Derek, but it wasn’t like he could put the idea into motion himself. He wouldn’t even ask this of _Scott_.

But Derek was different, in ways that simultaneously made all the sense in the world and absolutely none.

Stiles clutched him closer, pressing his cheek against Derek’s as he whispered again. “You let him take your wolf, and when he has it, you have to find it again, and then, then you eat him.”

Derek stared at Stiles, barely able to breathe. Everything hurt so fucking _much_ , he’d lost too much blood, and the sounds of the pack fighting the vrykolokas weren’t positive. Stiles was pinning him, although in the name of putting pressure on a wound that was only beginning to heal, and he had a hand on Derek’s neck and on his shoulder and he was telling him to-

If Stiles wanted to ruin him, to destroy him, this certainly would do it.

He was vulnerable as it was, but he was just about able to walk, he thought, to escape. He’d dive back into the fight anyway, of course, rather than let another pack die around him, but this was different. Vulnerable would take on a whole new meaning, _letting_ Peter take his shift, his wolf, his healing. Odds were he’d rip Derek’s guts out, tear him in half with no need for a sword.

Even _Kate_ would never have managed, never have pushed for something like this- he _was_ his wolf, that was how it was with a twofold soul, and he’d be horrifically weak, exposed, useless. And he’d be all that, _and_ be under the claws of a rampaging monster that was tossing his betas around like they were made of candyfloss.

Stiles pressed his forehead against Derek’s, clutching at him tight, the sting of his nails in the back of Derek’s neck somehow registering over all the other sources of pain. “I’m not going to lose you.” He breathed, barely an inch away from Derek’s mouth, ragged and desperate.

Derek shuddered under him. He forced himself to focus on Stiles' heartbeat, and then started to push himself up, catching Stiles with a hand to his waist.

It was crazy and stupid and dangerous, and he was betting more than just his life on what must be a hunch, but also the pack and their futures and fuck knew what else, probably the whole town, probably further.

But this was _Stiles_ , who’d done and said a lot of shit, but would never lie like this, about this.

And this was _his_ pack, getting torn apart mere feet away.

He was their alpha.

He was terrified out of his mind, but he would do it. He couldn’t _not_.

Derek nodded, easing them both to their feet and testing his weight. Tenuous, excruciating, but he’d hold.

“Derek-” Stiles said, clearly having no idea what to say. Derek nodded, and breathed him in for one costly moment, before he drew away, eyes gleaming red.

He saw Stiles pull out a knife and a molotov, and then Derek was turning away, shuddering his way into the fray.

“Scott!” He barked, forcing himself to seem confident. Scott was a ragged mess, covered in blood and healing burns, and yet he looked as stubborn as ever as he ducked out, letting Derek take his place. The wolves were watching each other’s backs, just like they’d practiced, and shit, that hadn’t even been a day ago.

Derek dodged a blow, barely, claws clipping his shoulder. He couldn’t make it obvious that he _wanted_ , for a given measure of want, Peter to peel his wolf away like a layer of fat on a cut of meat, because then he’d know something was up. So Derek had to force himself to fight, had to pull out all the stops and still lose, which wouldn’t be a struggle.

Erica swiped at Peter even as he retreated from the attack on Derek, harrying him, keeping Peter from putting all his focus on ripping Derek to shreds. Which was good, because he was already more than halfway there.

He forced his screaming body to press forwards, driving up with a knee and throwing a punch not even entirely intended to land. Peter took the knee to one thigh and cackled at the failed punch, easily dancing away.

“Good to see you, nephew!” He rattled, and Derek snarled, flashing his eyes at him.

Peter roared at that, and sprang into the trees, undoubtedly looking for a good angle. Derek managed to roll away when he dropped from the trees, ankle buckling under him, and _there_ , that was it.

He went for a lunge that Peter had taught him an eternity ago, during a too-warm spring spent play fighting in a tangle all across their front lawn, and, of course, Peter saw it coming.

Claws sunk deep into the back of his neck as another arm knocked the wind out of him, and Derek _crumbled_.

It was worse, this time, whether from the anticipation, the dread hopelessness, the adrenaline, or from the wounds all fucking over him. He felt his very being ripped in half, barely registering his claws and fangs receding past the overall sick tearing, exactly like he was being skinned alive.

He hit the dirt hard, limbs useless and wracked with pain, like cramps, but fucking _worse_. Derek was reminded sickly of the way some sea creatures jolted and danced with electricity even long after they were dead. Everything _hurt_ , overwhelming and all-consuming, and he drifted in the sea of it for an interminable amount of time.

It must have only been seconds, though, because through it all came Scott calling out to Erica, words he couldn’t quite process, the twang of Allison’s crossbow. Stronger than that, was their fear, sharp and pointed, in heartbeats and scent and every single thread of their still tenuous pack bonds.

It wasn’t just generalised fear, he realised, struggling to get his hands moving again. They were afraid for _him_.

And the wolf would go and eat the vrykolakas. He could hear Stiles’ words, as clear as if he’d just spoken them, railing against the agony and horrific tearing sensation.

He was their alpha. He was their alpha, these wolves and these humans, this _pack_. They would never, _never_ know what it was like to lose an alpha, to feel them die, the worst fucking thing in the world. Not if he could fucking help it. He was a shitty alpha, but this, this he could do.

Pushing away the memories of the awful, awful feeling that had come from feeling his mother die, from feeling Laura ripped in half, he dug deep.

Derek turned inwards, forcing himself to look at where his wolf was ripped away, to lean into it until the wrongness of it was his entire being. He poured himself into the rot, ignoring the base animal instinct to look away, to not eat meat that had clearly gone bad. Instead, he plunged himself into it, letting the empty clawing void sink its teeth into him.

The rot ran deep, a different sort than what he’d felt in the immediate aftermath of _Kate_ , of the fire. This was- this was what Peter was, now. Burnt and shrivelled, past dead. There was grief there, and then a rush of anger, and above it all, an unnatural wrongness, unholy, inhuman.

An argument could be made for _Derek_ deserving this, to be dragged down and torn apart in the most fundamental of ways, but not his _pack_ , fledgling thing that they were. They were so bright and full of life and pain and _future_.

He wasn’t going to let them lose their alpha.

Derek sunk his teeth _in_ , ripping through it all, even as his actual jaw cracked against the dirt, as his face lit up in pain, presumably from a blow he was barely even aware of. He just clamped down harder, ripping and tearing, pulling at the rot and wrenching pieces away. He’d seen an _actual_ wolf do that once, rip chunks off of a piece of meat with their jaws, tearing and twisting until they could swallow it down, and so that was what Derek would do.

There was howling, but Derek kept on biting down, all his being boiled down to a set of fangs shredding into a monster that was trying to destroy _his_ pack.

Everything _tore_ around him, with gasps and roars and a throaty gurgle, and Derek came back to himself, claws sliding out as he pushed himself up off the dirt.

Scott leapt over him, Erica moving in a second later from a different angle, and there was a crack of a gunshot, and that was it. A body slumped to the floor.

Derek was alone in the world again.

And Boyd was there, bending to crouch next to Derek and place a hand on his shoulder, eyes fixed on the corpse that had once, long ago, been his uncle. Derek hauled himself upright, just in time for Stiles to collide with him, arms looping around Derek’s neck, clinging to him and almost sending them both straight back to the ground.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe that worked-” Stiles gasped, tucking his face into Derek’s neck.

Derek laughed, dry and worn through. “Yeah.”

After another beat, Stiles pulled away slightly, and he couldn’t help but grin at him. Derek tipped their foreheads together, and then turned to look at the pack, ragged and bloody and somehow still _whole_.

“I’m… not cleaning that up.” Isaac looked at Peter’s body, and then at Derek. Derek almost laughed with it, the simple griping, as if nothing had happened.

Erica snorted, stretching out her knee with a wince, which had a solid chunk torn out of it. “Neither am _I_.”

Derek tipped his head against Stiles’, taking a moment, and then another. “You’re all okay?” He asked, voice coming out as a croak.

“Still standing.” Lydia called from behind him. Derek nodded, keeping his hands from shaking by tangling them in the back of Stiles’ shirt. He should pull himself together, take the reins of the situation, but he didn’t, just focused on Stiles’ heartbeat pressed up against his chest and watched as Allison helped Erica ease her weight onto her bad leg.

“Here-” Scott said, and then winced, seeping blood from his shoulder, his hip, practically everywhere. “Someone help me pick the body up.”

Boyd sighed, and stepped forwards, giving Scott a hand, glancing at Derek as if to check that it was okay.

Derek straightened as much as he could, and nodded. “We’ll put him in the car, take him to the old house. When you’re all healed, I’ll bury him.”

“ _We_.” Stiles said, squeezing him tight before stepping back, glancing Derek up and down before walking away, tapping Isaac on the shoulder to catch his attention. “I’ll bring the Jeep closer, Isaac, come with?”

Derek was practically useless as they stumbled back through the woods, his body not letting him forget how much he’d let it get beat up, and he wanted to help with Peter’s body, but could barely manage his own, Lydia eventually helping him limp along, hand wrapped around his middle, managing to support him despite her small frame, not saying a word.

From there, Derek lost track of things a little. They got into the loft and it was just a haze of removing ruined clothes and washing off the worst of the blood and gore, gauze and bandages firmly being put in their place.

He blinked, it seemed, and then found himself sitting on his bed, covered in gauze and smelling nothing but antiseptic, with Isaac and Lydia and Erica tangled together in the sheets behind him.

Stiles was bickering quietly with Scott in the bathroom, Boyd coming up the stairs with a couple refilled bottles of water. Allison was fidgeting with her phone in a corner, and Derek caught her eye.

“Come on.” He said to her, extending a hand, wincing when tape pulled on his elbow. “We all need to rest up.”

She smiled, setting her phone down on his dresser and coming closer, sitting down next to him. Derek breathed steadily, and then draped an arm around her shoulders, letting Allison in close.

They sat like that as Boyd slipped into the bed beside Erica, not moving until Stiles and Scott came back out of the bathroom, Scott poking Stiles in the ribs. They both brightened, and Scott moved in to brush his hand along Allison’s cheek.

“You good?” Scott asked, soft and delicate, a side of him Derek only rarely got to see. Allison nodded, sliding backwards until she could lean back and rest her head on Lydia’s stomach, drawing Scott down with her.

And then it was him and Stiles, staring at each other while the pack settled in a pile on Derek’s bed.

Stiles felt like he should look away, but he didn’t. He just… looked at Derek, wounded and still bloody in places and above all else, whole. He opened his mouth to say- _something_ , anything- but Derek just shook his head, glancing at the veritable cuddle pile behind and around him.

Stiles shrugged, and wandered back down the stairs, not looking up when he heard Derek follow him. He rummaged through Derek’s cupboards, setting some hot water on to boil, frowning when the only non-coffee thing he came up with was a battered box of cheap green tea.

“Not even any hot chocolate? Come on, man.” Was how he ended up breaking the silence, and Derek snatched the box from his hands and put a teabag in each of two mugs.

“I do it the right way. Not some box powder.”

“God, really? You never just need hot chocolate and not want to slave over a pan?”

Derek rolled his eyes at him, and poured water over the tea.

“You didn’t come down here to talk about hot chocolate.” Derek rumbled, brushing against Stiles’ side.

Stiles sighed and reached for the sugar.

Derek waited for him to pour several spoonfuls into his mug, and kept waiting until Stiles fished out the teabags, hand twitching forward like he’d expected Stiles to burn himself.

Stiles sighed, and blew out a breath over his mug of tea. “I don’t fucking know, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek said, clearly on autopilot, and Stiles snorted.

“What _should_ I call you, then?” Stiles asked, with all the bravado of someone who was wide awake at 5 in the morning. His brain wasn’t working enough to worry over his words, apparently.

Derek hummed, and stepped in close, setting Stiles’ mug to the side and resting a hand on his hip. “What do you- what do you _want_ , Stiles? From me, from- this?”

Stiles’ eyes were shut all of a sudden, and he bit his tongue. “Everything.”

There was a soft, almost broken noise, and he couldn’t say which one of them it came from.

After a moment, Stiles felt Derek press a smiling kiss into his cheek. “Oh, is that all?”

“Fuck off,” He laughed, pulling Derek closer. “Isn’t the part where you say you want that too?”

Derek pulled back slightly, and Stiles opened his eyes, watching him. “I- Stiles- There’s nothing I can give you that I haven’t already. That you don’t already have.”

Stiles frowned, not quite getting it, until Derek brought Stiles’ hand up to trace the back of his neck, where Peter had sunk his claws in deep. Then, then he got it. He’d known, all along, what he’d asked for, that he’d asked Derek to throw himself into the abyss, powerless and at the mercy of a killing machine, based off of a hunch from a book he’d read while hopped up on caffeine and sleep deprivation. He’d known that, and it had terrified him, but more in the horror of it all, of Derek slammed to the floor under Peter, of the way he’d _screamed_ , of the way it would have all been Stiles’ fault-

He hadn’t thought about what it might mean that Derek had _done_ it. That he’d said yes.

And really, who needed a ‘yes, I want to date you’ in the face of _that_ , of the trust and the faith and the blind leap, and what it all added up to mean. When what it added up to was, well, everything.

“Oh,” He breathed, shaky, and then he was pulling Derek in by his neck for a kiss, just this side of desperate. It was soft and warm and precious, a delicate thing shared as the night drifted into morning. There’d never been anything romantic about this hour, before, too wracked with stress and insomnia, but like this, with Derek pressed up against him and nipping gently at his lip, he could almost see it.

“We should sleep,” Derek said, finally, pulling away but staying just as close. Stiles grumbled and managed to extract himself enough to grab for his mug again and take several long swigs.

“I’m not ready to get back to reality.” He said, hiding behind his tea.

“We have all summer.” Derek returned, soft.

“Yeah, and what about after? What about when they- when we- all go back to college and it’s just like before and no-one wants-”

“You were the one telling me it’d be worth it.” Derek said, squeezing Stiles’ side, hand fitting nicely around his ribcage. “But. I’ll fight for it, this time. I’d like to think we all will.”

Stiles didn’t whimper, but it was a close thing. He covered it up by pressing his face into Derek’s shoulder, forcing his breathing to stay steady.

There was a creak from upstairs, and a loud snore. Stiles laughed, helpless. It brought him back a bit, though, from thinking about the endless hours spent in a corridor with only his laptop for company, empty and hollow and scared. There was a fucking _puppy pile_ happening just above his head.

“Okay.” He said, finally, lifting his head to look at Derek. “We’ll make this pack thing work.”

Derek nodded and drained the rest of Stiles’ mug, grimacing at the taste and setting it down next to his full one. “Upstairs?”

Stiles nodded, and followed Derek back up, not letting go of his hand. “There won’t be any space,” He said, not unhappily.

“No. But we’ll fit.”

Stiles grinned and pressed a quick kiss to Derek’s lips, casual but also not. Then, he turned and started wriggling his way into the heap of sleeping bodies that was their pack, careful not to jab any sore spots with his elbows or his knees, and settled down into the warmth of it all, Derek right behind him.


End file.
